


The Steep and Thorny Way to Heaven

by perihelion_88



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perihelion_88/pseuds/perihelion_88
Summary: Sirius Black is heir to the throne until a sinister plot threatens to take away everything he has ever known. Can a band of marauders and a few loyal advisors save a kingdom before it crumbles in the hands of a wicked ruler?





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Moving all my fics over from HPFF. This story is incomplete/abandoned. I may come back and complete it one day if I can find the inspiration again. This story was inspired by Hamlet with some themes related to Peter Pan as well.

**_Scene I_**  
  
Cygnus Black was a patient man. He figured he had to be with three young children under his tutelage. But as he sat at his desk, aged by years of teaching the children of the castle, and watched his pupils working diligently on their essays, he wished for the hours of the day to pass by him quickly. He had plans tonight that kept his mind preoccupied.   
  
“Uncle?” A voice broke him out of his reverie.   
  
His eyes snapped to his oldest nephew, Sirius, who had his hand raised and his lower lip caught between his teeth, a look of perplexity on his face.  
  
He sighed. “Yes, Sirius?”   
  
“I was just wondering  _why_  we don’t allow goblins to have wands. If goblins were allowed wands, I think they wouldn’t hate wizards as much and we wouldn’t have so many uprisings.”   
  
Cygnus scoffed and looked upon his nephew with such disdain that Sirius shrunk back in his seat.  _This is precisely why Sirius will never make a strong king_ , Cygnus thought.   
  
“Narcissa, my dear, would you like to explain to your cousin why it is we do not allow goblins the right to carry wands?”  
  
Narcissa, or Cissy as she liked to be called, was his youngest daughter. At fifteen, she was only four years older than Sirius, but she already acted like she knew everything there was to know. He smiled proudly as she sat up straight in her seat and folded her hands carefully atop her desk.   
  
“Everyone knows that goblins can do magic without wands anyway. But as wizards and witches, we rule this kingdom so we should not give more power to those creatures that are below us.”   
  
“Excellent answer, Cissy,” Cygnus praised his daughter. She beamed at him and shot Sirius a self-satisfied smirk, flinging her long blonde hair over her should before turning her attention back to her essay.   
  
Sirius frowned. “That’s not fair!” he proclaimed. “Everyone should have the same rights.”   
  
“Do not speak of things you do not understand!” Cygnus shouted, slamming his hand down on his desk. The children jumped but said nothing. “Wands are not allowed in the possession of any non-wizard or witch. It has been that way for over three hundred years and will continue to be that way. End of discussion.”  
  
“That will change when  _I’m_  king,” Sirius muttered indignantly.  
  
“Shut up, Sirius,” Regulus hissed, shooting glances between his older brother and his uncle.   
  
“If you allow that, there will be no kingdom for you to rule over, Sirius,” his uncle argued. “Get back to work.”   
  
Sirius grumbled under his breath but picked up his quill again and continued writing. Cygnus watched him carefully, aware of the discontent brewing in the young child’s mind, and knowing in his heart that what he was to do was for the best.   
  
Sirius was too independent, quite unlike his younger brother who was always eager to please, and in Cygnus’s mind that was not the trait they wanted to encourage in their future king. That was something he would remedy tonight.  
  
When the children had finished their essays, Cygnus stopped his nephews on their way out of his classroom. “Visit with your father tonight,” he urged them. “He’s been feeling ill as of late.”   
  
The boys nodded, knowing their father, King Orion, had been locked away in his private quarters for the last few days. Regulus’s tenth birthday was fast approaching and with the celebration of another year added onto the young prince’s age also came mourning for his mother, Walburga, who died in childbirth.   
  
Sirius paused once more before crossing the threshold. “Do you think Father will ever be happy again?” he asked his uncle.   
  
Cygnus leaned back in his chair and leveled his gaze on Sirius before replying, “I think your father will only be happy when he is reunited with your mother again.”   
  
Sirius looked down, shuffling his feet anxiously and nodded once, quickly, before shoving his fists into his pocket and rushing out of the room.  
  
Cygnus felt his lips stretching slowly into a smile as he thought of his late sister and her husband; all Cygnus wanted to do was make Orion happy again.   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Sirius sat beside his father’s bed, an unread textbook open on his lap. He wasn’t quite tall enough so his feet scuffed the floor when he swung his legs back and forth as he waited impatiently for his father to stir from his nap. Sirius loved sitting in his father’s room, especially at this time of day when the natural sunlight filtered in through his gold curtains, bathing the light in a warm orange glow.   
  
“Princes don’t drag their feet,” his father slurred sleepily, his eyes blinking against the bright sun.   
  
Sirius’s legs halted and he sat silently until he was addressed again. His father slowly sat up and rested himself against the intricate designs etched into the headboard. “What do you want, Sirius?” his father asked wearily.   
  
Sirius paused for a moment, noticing the grey hairs on his father’s head, a sharp contrast to the young, handsome man he once was. “Is my mother in heaven?” he wondered, fingers moving idly across the smooth page of text before him.   
  
“You know she is,” his father sighed.   
  
Sirius cocked his head and stared thoughtfully at his father. “What do you think it’s like?”   
  
His father smiled contentedly, reminding Sirius of the sporadic glimpses of a caring father he had had over the past decade – the one who grinned and laughed with his sons and didn’t bury his grief beneath legal parchments and the heavy weight of the crown upon his head.   
  
“I imagine it’s beautiful; rolling green hills, skies as blue as your mother’s eyes, nothing but golden sunshine and clear night skies as we take our place amongst the stars.”   
  
“Why can’t we all just live in heaven then?” Sirius demanded.   
  
“You must live your life first, my dear boy. There is no happiness if you have not felt sadness, no triumph if you have never failed. You are still young – you have decades at your fingertips. Don’t wish for your life to be over; it has barely even begun.”   
  
“What about you?” Sirius quietly asked.   
  
His father frowned and lifted his hand from the mattress, waving Sirius over. He said, “Come here.”   
  
Sirius hopped down from the chair, placing the textbook carefully on his seat and made his way over to his father’s bedside, making sure to pick his feet up off the ground with each step. He was a prince; he would not drag his feet.   
  
His father placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I have lived for many years, my son.” His fingers tightened infinitesimally in a gentle squeeze before trailing down his son’s arm and clasping Sirius’s own smaller hand in his. “But I still have many years before me. Do not worry.”   
  
Sirius smiled down at his father. Giving his hand one last squeeze, his father released him. “Now go on and play with your brother before dinner.”   
  
“Will you be down for dinner?” Sirius inquired.  
  
“Not tonight,” was the carefully measured reply.   
  
Sirius nodded before turning and carefully watched the way his feet moved as he walked. He was halfway to the door when his father called him back. “Yes, Father?”   
  
His father’s head jerked towards the chair and Sirius felt heat burn his cheeks. He grinned sheepishly as he made his way back across the room and scooped the book up.   
  
“Sorry. Goodnight.”   
  
“Goodbye, Sirius,” his father replied.   
  
Sirius turned to wave and he watched his father’s fond smile disappear as the door clicked closed. Tucking the book in his armpit, Sirius ran off to find Regulus, wondering idly if his brother would be up for a game of Exploding Snap before dinner.   
  
 ** _Scene III_**  
  
Cygnus laughed quietly to himself, wondering where his well-practiced patience was, while he paced anxiously in his study. In his hand he clasped a vial filled with clear liquid, his fingers wrapped around it tightly as if it were his last tethers to this world. The firelight cast dancing shadows along his wall, but aside from the crackling of the flames, Cygnus heard nothing but silence. In the darkness, there was a quiet urgency that whispered wicked words into his ear.   
  
The illusion of silence and safety was shattered when the door to his study opened with a loud, piercing screech followed by a low groan.   
  
“Quietly,” Cygnus growled, ushering the two men into his room, their long, black robes billowing behind them. Both men were tall and dark-haired with pale skin and Cygnus had to squint into the shadows to distinguish them. “Dolohov, Carrow,” he addressed them. “You know what you must do, then?”   
  
Dolohov grinned, baring his yellow-stained teeth and Cygnus recoiled slightly from the smell emanating from his mouth. “We take the boy out into the woods and kill him.” He pulled his wand from the inner pocket of his robes and stroked it lovingly.   
  
“Why can’t we just kill ‘im in ‘is sleep?” Carrow asked impatiently. “Nothin’ but a waste of time, that is.”   
  
“You must make it look like it was an accident,” Cygnus replied, slightly exasperated. “We need the kingdom to believe that Sirius, stricken with grief after receiving news of his father’s death, ran away and was then killed by a wild animal.”   
  
“Can we gut ‘im to make it look bloody?”   
  
Cygnus frowned and looked thoughtful. “Do what you need to. You can’t just Avada Kedavra him and have the kingdom believe he was attacked.”   
  
“We’ll get the job done, Master,” Dolohov reassured him. “When do you want us to take the boy?”   
  
“The king’s aides will surely rouse his sons once his death has been realized. Sirius must know that his father is dead if we are to get away with anything. You might have to wait until tomorrow night.”   
  
Carrow opened his mouth to protest but Dolohov elbowed him sharply in the gut.   
  
“What the fu-“ Carrow stopped mid-sentence as Cygnus silenced him with a glare.   
  
“Very well, Master,” Dolohov said, bowing his head once more and dragging Carrow behind him.   
  
Cygnus slumped into a chair beside the fireplace, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. The vial rested enclosed in the fist of his other hand and he unclenched his fingers to look at the transparent liquid inside of it. He watched it slosh slightly against the glass as he observed it by the light of the fire.   
  
 _Funny_ , Cygnus mused,  _how something so deadly can look so unassuming._  
  
Standing, he made his way towards the window in his study that overlooked the forest. The night was pitch black but looking up, Cygnus could see Orion’s constellation burning brightly.   
  
“Soon, my brother, you will join our forefathers,” he murmured as he dropped the vial into the pocket of his robes.   
  
He tossed the hood of his robes up over his head and glided quickly and quietly out of his study, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the plush green carpet that lined the hall. At this time of night, the lights had been dimmed so Cygnus crept beside the wall, hidden in the shadows as he maneuvered himself through the maze-like corridors of the castle.   
  
He paused outside the alder wood door and listened for movement inside. When he heard none, he turned the knob and quietly slipped into the room. The curtains that had been pulled back during the day to let in the natural sunlight now lay stiff and motionless, blocking any light from entering the spacious room.   
  
Cygnus was used to darkness; he spent his entire life keeping secrets and malevolent thoughts hidden beneath the cover of night. His eyes adjusted quickly and he carefully made his way across the room to the bed. He looked down at King Orion, his second cousin and brother-in-law, who was curled up on his side, arm thrown out across the mattress as if searching for a warm body to hold. Cygnus admired how even in sleep Orion appeared tormented; he bore the brunt of his grief in the wrinkles that lined his face and the white that speckled his hair. Even his dreams seemed more like nightmares.   
  
Cygnus’s fingers closed around the vial in his pocket and he pulled it out, popping the top off with a flick of his thumb. His hand remained steady as he shuffled closer to the bed and held the open vial over his brother-in-law’s sleeping head.   
  
He watched in fascination as the clear liquid dribbled over the lip of the glass and the drops slid one by one into Orion’s ear. All it took was three drops before Cygnus heard Orion’s breath begin to stutter. A few seconds later he heard nothing but silence. He corked the vial and placed it safely in his pocket before pulling the sleeve of his robe out of the way and resting his fingers on Orion’s neck. His fingertips searched for a pulse, for a sign that life still ran through flowing blood beneath pallid skin; he felt nothing.   
  
“Sleep in peace, King Orion,” Cygnus said in a slightly mocking manner.   
  
Fully satisfied the poison had done its job, he left the room just as quietly as he had entered and made his way back to his study. In only a few short hours, King Orion’s aides would find him pale and unresponsive and call for a physician. As he finally settled into bed for the night, Cygnus smirked because he knew they would find nothing to implicate him in the death of the king; there was no evidence that would suggest King Orion died by any other means than his own broken, grief-stricken body failing him. Cygnus fell asleep easily that night, dreaming of a crown upon his head and his brother’s kingdom in the palm of his hand.


	2. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he was too young, too inexperienced; he was not expected to take the crown and throne until his seventeenth birthday.

**_Scene I_**  
  
It was still dark when Sirius was roused from his slumber by small hands shaking him roughly.   
  
“Reg?” he mumbled, blinking rapidly to adjust to the lack of light. “It’s still too early. G’back to bed.”   
  
He smacked his lips sleepily and rolled over, quite content to drift off again. But Regulus would have none of that and climbed into bed with him, shaking him again.  
  
“Sirius, wake up,” he hissed and Sirius awoke with a start when he heard the roughness in Regulus’s voice, as if he’d been crying.   
  
“What happened?” he asked frantically, grabbing Regulus’s shoulders and looking him over briefly. He didn’t notice any obvious wounds but by the light of the moon, he could see the tear tracks that trailed down Regulus’s round, childish cheeks. Regulus blinked and tears pooled in his eyes once more before he let loose a loud wail of despair.  
  
“I heard them talking,” he explained through hiccupping sobs. His face flushed and his breath stuttered as he gasped for air.   
  
“Talking about what?” Sirius prompted him, concerned at the level of hysterics his younger brother was reaching.   
  
“They said Father was  _dead_!” Regulus shrieked. Sirius had to cover Regulus’s mouth with his hand and shushed him, lest they wake their personal aides.   
  
“What are you talking about?” Sirius demanded angrily once Regulus had quieted somewhat. “If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t funny, Reg.”   
  
Regulus smacked Sirius’s hands away and huffed. “I wouldn’t joke about this!” he sniffled, swiping the sleeve of his nightshirt across his face to dry his tears. “I heard Kreacher and Dumbledore talking outside my door. They said that Father wouldn’t wake up and they were calling for Madam Pomfrey.”   
  
Sirius tried to swallow the lump in his throat but still felt the unfamiliar sting of tears. Regulus’s bottom lip began to tremble and Sirius let loose a shaky sigh, pulling Regulus down to rest beside him.   
  
“We don’t know anything,” he said, trying to reassure Regulus. He was the oldest, the one who would be king; he could handle this, he told himself. “Maybe you didn’t hear them right. Father’s fine.”   
  
The two brothers laid side-by-side for a few moments in silence. Sirius could feel his nightshirt dampening with Regulus’s tears but just patted his brother’s back awkwardly.   
  
“Can we go check?” Regulus pleaded.   
  
Sirius frowned, turning his head slightly to look out the window; the dark sky was beginning to lighten slightly but it was still considered too early for them to leave their rooms. “You know we’re not supposed to leave our rooms until daylight.”   
  
“Sirius,  _please_ , I won’t be able to go back to sleep until we know that Father is okay.”  
  
He sighed but sat up and pushed his duvet away. He climbed out of his bed and slid his feet into his slippers as Regulus clambered out of bed.   
  
“Be quiet,” Sirius said as he pulled his door open, peering out into the dimly lit hallway; he saw no one and ushered Regulus out.   
  
They crept along the corridor until they reached a set of wooden double doors. Turning the knob, Sirius yanked on the door hard, knowing the faster the door opened, the quieter it was. There was no one in sight when the boys snuck out of the castle wing where their bedrooms were located. It was unusual for the main corridor to be as empty as it was at this time of morning; Sirius knew that there was a constant bustle of staff running off to do errands or clean the castle. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the stillness and he grabbed Regulus’s arm roughly, dragging him past the large winding staircase to the other side of the hall, opening another set of double doors.  _This_  was where the entire staff seemed to be gathered.   
  
Sirius noticed Mrs. Weasley, the nanny who raised both him and his brother after their mother’s death, pacing anxiously. Her eyes met his and they widened in surprise. She tossed a glance towards their father’s door and then hurried over to greet them.   
  
“You boys should be in bed,” she scolded, trying to steer them away from the gathering crowd outside their father’s bedroom.   
  
“What’s wrong with Father?” Sirius demanded, trying to wiggle out of her grasp.   
  
“Sirius, please,” Mrs. Weasley said, tightening her grip on his arm. “Madam Pomfrey is with your father right now. It’s best if you just wait in your rooms until someone comes to fetch you.”   
  
“I want to see Father now!” Regulus cried, as he tugged hard and escaped from their nanny and rushed through the throng of staff.   
  
“Regulus!” Sirius called after his brother.   
  
Mrs. Weasley sighed and let him go. “Best go after him,” she said, brushing Sirius’s dark hair out of his eyes as she looked at him with motherly affection.   
  
Sirius’s heart had begun to pound furiously in his chest as he walked through the parted crowd, avoiding their pitying stares and whispers. He heard Regulus cry out before he reached the door and ignoring all the rules that had been instilled in him since birth, he broke out into a run to reach his father’s bedroom in record time. He almost knocked into Regulus who had come to a stop just inside the door and he reached out to grab Regulus’s shoulders, steadying himself. The grip he had on his brother almost failed him when he turned his attention to his father’s bed and saw Madam Pomfrey working furiously with potions and spell work over the ashen figure that once was his father.   
  
Their father’s two aides, Albus Dumbledore and Matthias Kreacher, were by the king’s beside. Dumbledore remained impassive, though Sirius could tell he was worried, while Kreacher was muttering under his breath and wringing his handkerchief fretfully.   
  
“Madam Pomfrey?” Sirius asked quietly. He was afraid to disturb her concentration but his concern and curiosity outweighed any tongue-lashing she might release on him.  
  
“Not now, boy,” she muttered angrily as she stirred the concoction boiling in her pot. There was a tiny puff and she looked at the light blue liquid with satisfaction when she ladled it into a shallow bowl. “Prop him up,” she ordered Kreacher, who immediately jumped to action.   
  
The king was lifted into a sitting position and had to be supported by Kreacher or else he would flop back down onto the bed like a dead fish. Sirius cringed at the pallor of his father’s cheeks and deep down, he knew that whatever potion Madam Pomfrey had created would do nothing to save his father.   
  
Dumbledore motioned the boys over and they dutifully crossed the room to stand beside their father’s most trusted aide.   
  
“Is he dead?” Regulus asked tearfully, watching Madam Pomfrey pry the king’s mouth open wide enough to slip some liquid in.   
  
Dumbledore put one hand on each boy’s shoulder but didn’t say a word. They watched with bated breath as they waited for the potion to work its magic. Seconds seemed to pass like hours to Sirius in the stifling silence of his father’s bedroom. There was no movement; no sound of gasping breath or twitching fingers from the unresponsive king and Madam Pomfrey shook her head sadly.   
  
“I’m afraid he’s gone,” she said, turning to face the audience in the room. Sirius heard word spreading quickly through the crowd outside and women began to wail as the men’s voices began to rise above one another.   
  
Sirius felt tears gathering in his eyes and when he squeezed his eyelids shut to block out the sight of his father’s dead body, they spilled over and raced down his cheeks to gather at his chin.   
  
Regulus started screaming and Sirius cried harder, knowing how difficult it was for Regulus to grow up knowing his mother had died bringing him into the world. Now his father was dead as well. Sirius saw Madam Pomfrey wave her wand while muttering a spell and then Regulus quieted and began to sway. He caught his brother before he fell but he stumbled under Regulus’s weight.   
  
Dumbledore picked Regulus up with ease, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his neck while his head lolled uncomfortably. “I’ve got him,” Dumbledore reassured Sirius. “You should say goodbye to your father while you have the chance.”   
  
Sirius nodded and with shaky legs, he walked closer to the bed.   
  
Dumbledore addressed the crowd that had begun to filter into the room and said, “Let the boy say goodbye in peace.”   
  
Madam Pomfrey was the last to leave after the rest had trickled out slowly. She rubbed Sirius’s back and offered him a sincere smile. “Fetch me if you need something to get you to sleep tonight,” she offered. While Sirius was touched that the usually abrupt woman was being kind to him, he knew there would be no sleeping tonight.   
  
When the door to his father’s bedroom finally closed with an ominous click, Sirius made the last few steps toward the bed. He touched the hand that rested closest to him but recoiled at the cool temperature of the skin.   
  
“Father?” he whispered and then instantly felt foolish for he knew there would be no response.   
  
He took a deep breath and reached out again, this time keeping his hand atop his father’s. He tried desperately to keep his composure, knowing that now his father had passed, he was next in line for the throne. But he was too young, too inexperienced; he was not expected to take the crown and throne until his seventeenth birthday.   
  
He knew there were laws in place that dictated what should happen if the king died before then, but he didn’t know what they entailed. Sirius was at a loss and then he felt a surge of irrational anger towards his father for leaving him to take care of a kingdom and his brother; he was only eleven, after all. Feeling defeated, he nearly collapsed beside the bed, but instead he sat down on the edge of the mattress and sighed.   
  
“I’m not ready yet,” he said fearfully. “Why did you have to die?”   
  
There was a knock on the door and Sirius’s head snapped up in time to see Kreacher stick his head in.   
  
“Master Sirius,” Kreacher addressed him, bowing his head slightly as he entered the room. He coughed uncomfortably. “I’m afraid that your time is nearly up. There uh…needs to be an investigation to determine the…the cause of your father’s de-” The handkerchief in his hand was twisted beyond recognition and he looked flushed. “I’m sorry. I can’t…” he squeaked.   
  
“I understand.”   
  
Sirius turned back towards the body and pressed his lips quickly to his father’s forehead. “I hope you see green hills and blue skies. Say hello to Mother,” he said sadly before rising and walking steadily, regally, across the bedroom floor.   
  
He passed Alastor Moody, his father’s head of security, as he barged into the bedroom. “Don’t you worry, Master Sirius, I’ll find out what happened,” Moody said gruffly as he limped over to the king’s bed. He whipped out his wand and began uttering spells while Sirius watched, but Kreacher soon pulled him away and into the hall, closing the door behind them.   
  
“You should head down to the kitchen. I think Ms. Winky will have some breakfast for you.”   
  
Sirius agreed but he didn’t feel hungry, not after sitting with his father’s dead body. Still, he made his way down the main stairway and took a left, his feet automatically taking him towards the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, he inhaled the scent of sweet bread baking and he took comfort in the sounds of Ms. Winky, their cook, bustling around the kitchen preparing meals for the entire castle.   
  
“Oh, Master!” she cried as she spotted him. “I just heard the awful news! How terrible! Here, drink this,” she exclaimed, putting a cup of something warm into his hands.   
  
Sirius sniffed it and then took a big gulp, feeling the liquid warm his insides. Ms. Winky smiled tenderly and ushered him over to a small, round table. “Sit, I’ll get you some fresh bread and jam.”   
  
“Thank you,” he murmured, for though he didn’t feel hungry, his stomach growled angrily at him, demanding to be fed.   
  
“Where is your brother?” she asked as she slid a plate in front of him.   
  
Sirius took a big bite out of his toast and swallowed before speaking. “Madam Pomfrey had to sedate him.”   
  
“I’ll have some food sent up to him. Eat up!” she encouraged before flittering away, moving from pot to pot, adding spices and herbs, like a bee moves flower to flower, pollinating as it goes. Now that she was aware of the king’s death, Sirius knew she was busy working on the dinner feast. Whenever someone in the castle died, they celebrated their life with a fantastic feast. Sirius knew this feast would outshine the rest of the celebrations he had attended in his short life and while he was saddened by his father’s passing, he took a quiet comfort in the fact that his father was so well loved.  
  
Sirius finished the rest of his bread quietly and snuck out of the kitchen through the backdoor, leaving Ms. Winky to do her job in peace. The backdoor out of the kitchen led into a small courtyard and Sirius curled up beneath the apple tree, embracing the quiet of the outdoors. Here, with only his despairing thoughts for company, Sirius fell asleep.   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Cygnus was busy with his lesson planning when he was interrupted. He plastered on a look of surprise when he saw his intruder.   
  
“Matthias, what can I do for you on this beautiful morning?” he asked cheerfully, slipping a thin piece of parchment to mark his place in the tome he was reading.   
  
“This morning is not so beautiful,” Kreacher admitted sadly. “I am so-sorry to have to inform you of the king’s untimely…” He paused and swallowed hard before continuing, “…The king’s untimely passing.”   
  
Cygnus gasped and shot up from his chair. “Tell me it isn’t true!” he demanded, stalking over to the quivering aide. “What happened?”   
  
Kreacher cowered under Cygnus’s piercing stare. “We…we don’t know! Alastor is investigating at the moment.”   
  
“Find out what happened and inform me immediately. The princes, where are they? Have they been told?”  
  
“Yes, sir. They were both present this morning.”   
  
“Good. Very good,” Cygnus murmured. “Who is planning the funeral ceremony?”   
  
“I…I’m not sure.”  
  
“Do you know anything?” Cygnus snarled.   
  
“I’m sorry, sir. I think – I think Albus might be in charge.”   
  
Kreacher avoided looking into Cygnus’s eyes, content to stare at the bookshelves that lined the study.   
  
Cygnus smirked at his submission. “Very well. You are dismissed. Send someone when they’ve finished with their investigation. We  _must_  know what happened to the king.”   
  
“Of course, sir,” Kreacher said quickly, turning on his heel and hurrying out of the door.   
  
“What an odd man,” Cygnus observed quietly. He sat back down in his chair and swung his legs to rest on the edge of his desk, planning the king’s elaborate funeral in his mind.  
  
 ** _Scene III_**  
  
Alastor Moody ruled the king had died of natural causes. He could find no evidence of a Killing Curse, no obvious wounds and he was convinced if the king had been poisoned, his spell work would have detected it.   
  
“There is nothing suspicious about the king’s death,” he declared confidently.   
  
Dumbledore stood beside him while he made the announcement, but the wise aide had trouble believing what Moody had determined as the king’s cause of death. But he had no proof to contradict the security expert’s decision. His gaze fell upon the princes who sat side by side, hands tightly grasped as Moody talked about the king’s death with sadness, though his tone revealed a certain fondness for their beloved king. Moody finished speaking and then turned the platform over to Dumbledore.   
  
“Tonight,” Dumbledore began, “we mourn the loss of our great king. We feel much sadness but tonight we should also celebrate the life of the man who helped us become as prosperous as we have, who ruled us with a gentle but firm hand and was never unkind or unfair. He was our king, but he was also a father, and we should celebrate the lives of our two princes, who are the very best of us all.”   
  
“Hear, hear!” the crowd cried, and Dumbledore offered the two young princes a brief smile, before he turned and headed towards his room, preparing himself for a long night.   
  
 ** _Scene IV_**  
  
Sirius collapsed in his bed later that night, his stomach full of Ms. Winky’s excellent food and his heart even fuller. He never knew the impact his father had on the lives of his staff, but he was proud to follow in his footsteps. He listened contentedly to the stories and kind words that did nothing but praise a king, who did his best to rule a kingdom and raise a family despite his broken heart.   
  
All the food he ate made him feel drowsy and he fell asleep quickly, despite his thoughts earlier this morning that sleep would not come easily.   
  
Sirius wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he bolted awake, breathing heavily. He looked around his room but couldn’t see anything that would have awoken him. The air in his room felt stale and Sirius clambered out of his bed to throw open a window. He gulped the fresh air greedily, resting his overheated skin against the cool stones that lined his window. The forest outside seemed unusually quiet and Sirius felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Before he could turn around, suddenly aware of a presence behind him, he heard someone mutter, “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”   
  
Sirius felt his muscles lock and he wished he could have winced as his body toppled to the floor. He began to panic, willing the muscles in his lips to move so he could scream out for help but his body wouldn’t respond to the commands of his racing mind. He felt hands grab him roughly and pull him to his feet.  
  
“We need to make it look like he ran away,” he heard a voice say.   
  
“What would ‘e bring if ‘e was runnin’ away?” another voice replied.   
  
The first man sighed in exasperation. “Just grab a bag and throw some clothes in it or something.  _Let’s go_!”   
  
Sirius was momentarily blinded when his room was suddenly illuminated with light.   
  
“What are you doing?” the first voice hissed. “Put it out!”  
  
“I can’t see anythin’!” the second voice complained.   
  
“Just grab some damn clothes and be done with it. We’re already running behind.”   
  
Sirius heard some rustling and one of the men cursed as he stubbed his toe on a side table.   
  
“I’m ready,” Sirius heard, and then he was lifted in someone’s arms. He heard the swish of silky fabric and felt something smooth and heavy settle over him like a blanket as he was carried from his room. The hall outside his room was darkened and Sirius panicked even more, convinced that no one would notice these men stealing him away in the middle of the night.   
  
“This way!” the man holding him said quietly, moving them down a hallway that was rarely used. They followed the hall until they stopped in front of a rickety, wooden staircase. “Follow behind me,” he said to the other man.   
  
Sirius felt his heart pounding uncomfortably in his throat, afraid the man would drop him and he would fall to his death. His concern continued to grow, even when they had safely made it to the bottom and outside the castle, when he realized they were heading for the forest.   
  
He heard the crunch of leaves beneath the men’s heavy footsteps and listened to each step as a way to measure time. After six hundred feet, he lost count. The men eventually stopped in a clearing and whatever had been covering him was pulled off and he was dropped to the ground. By the moonlight filtering in through the breaks in the treetops, Sirius could see the two men who had kidnapped him. Both men were tall and dark-haired. The one who had carried him grinned menacingly at him and Sirius could see his yellow, crooked teeth. The other man had a long scar running down his face.   
  
“Can we kill ‘im yet?” Scarface asked, pulling his wand from his back pocket, pointing it at Sirius’s chest. Sirius felt fear creep up his spine; if he wasn’t paralyzed, he would probably be quivering.   
  
Crooked-Teeth smacked his companion on the back of the head. “Not yet.” He turned to face Sirius again. “The kingdom will think you ran away, so grief-stricken after your father’s death. You ran into the woods, only to meet a wild animal who attacked you so savagely your body will be barely recognizable. That will be fun,” he said, baring his teeth at Sirius.   
  
“Can we  _Crucio_  ‘im instead?” Scarface asked Crooked-Teeth. “Can we release ‘im from the Bind and ‘ear ‘im squeal like a li’l pig?”   
  
Crooked-Teeth laughed. “I do love that sound,” he admitted. “ _Finite Incantatem_!”  
  
Sirius felt his limbs go flaccid and he moved his fingers experimentally, only to clench them tightly into fists when he felt the effects of the first  _Crucio_. He let loose a shrill shriek and writhed uncomfortably on the ground, feeling like a thousand hot knives were piercing his skin.  
  
“How did you enjoy that, little prince?” Crook-Teeth taunted. “Oh, look, he’s crying! Can you imagine our future king being such a baby?”   
  
“Me next!” Scarface exclaimed gleefully.   
  
Sirius squeezed his eyes tightly closed and braced himself for the pain. Only it didn’t come. Instead he heard the cry of, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” His eyes flew open and he saw Crooked-Teeth shooting a green spell into the woods. There was a cackle of laughter and another flash of red came streaking towards them. Crooked-Teeth cursed.  
  
“Find them!” he yelled to Scarface, and then he turned towards Sirius. “I’ll finish him off.”   
  
“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Crooked-Teeth spat out, his wand pointed at Sirius. Sirius quickly rolled to his side, avoiding the spell as it kicked up dirt and rock when it hit the ground instead, and attempted to scramble to his feet.   
  
He heard Crooked-Teeth say, “ _Incarcerous_ ,” and suddenly he was falling again. This time he was able to catch himself with his hands and he rolled again to avoid another spell. Another flash of red came streaking out from the trees surrounding them and this time it didn’t miss. Crooked-Teeth’s wand went flying from his hand and he cried out in anger.   
  
“Let’s just go,” Scarface said, his eyes darting every which way, attempting to find out where they were being attacked from.   
  
“They have my wand!” Crooked-teeth growled. He glared at Sirius. “You best watch your back, boy. I may not be able to kill you now but mark my word, if you  _ever_  set foot in that castle again, I will make you wish you had died tonight just like your father. If you even survive the night.”   
  
Sirius gulped and then flinched when Scarface made to move towards him. Scarface laughed and kicked dirt in his face.   
  
“Long live the king!” Crooked-Teeth sneered, turning on his heel and walking briskly out of the clearing, Scarface trailing behind him, arguing back and forth the entire time.   
  
Sirius’s hands shook. While the men who had kidnapped him were now disarmed and on their way back to the castle, Sirius still had no idea who stole their wands or what they were after. For all he knew, they could be deranged murderers. He had heard tales from Mrs. Weasley when he was younger about the riff-raff that called these woods their home. He shivered, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. Every noise made him jump until he heard a branch snap directly behind him and he almost pissed himself. Realizing his feet were still tied, he tumbled to the ground when he tried to get up, scraping his face up against some rocks.   
  
“Who’s there? Show yourself,” he demanded in a shaky voice.   
  
He heard more branches crack and then suddenly three figures emerged from the shadow of the trees. Sirius curled himself into a ball as best as he could and looked at the figures warily until they were standing directly in a beam of moonlight. To his surprise, he noticed they were boys, not much older than himself.   
  
The middle figure grinned at him, all wide-eyed and dimple-cheeked, and said, “Hey there, I’m James!” 


	3. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You will be the fiercest and most powerful king this kingdom has ever seen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter takes place prior to Sirius' disappearance in the last chapter.

**_Scene I_**  
  
Cygnus took a sip of pumpkin juice as his eyes roamed the packed ballroom. Though he decided to remain sober to ensure his plans were carried out that night, he briefly wished he could drink something a little stronger. Many people were laughing and joking, sharing fond memories of the king and Cygnus was disgusted by their blatant disrespect for his brother. When he died, he would ensure it was a somber affair. With death came pain and grieving, not this frivolous party where people ate too much and drank even more.   
  
The lip of the goblet rested on his lips, hiding his smirk, when his eyes finally landed upon his oldest nephew. Sirius was surrounded by some of the men in Moody’s security team and they all appeared to be intoxicated, laughing raucously.   
  
“Foolish boy,” he muttered as he watched Sirius’s pale cheeks flush and a delighted laugh escape his mouth.   
  
He found Regulus next, sitting next to Kreacher with an agonized look on his face. Placing the goblet on the tray of a passing servant, Cygnus stalked through the ballroom, slithering easily through the throng.  
  
“Regulus!” He stood before the young boy and placed his hands gently on his nephew’s shoulders. “Is this celebration not to your liking?”  
  
Regulus frowned and glanced quickly at Kreacher, who appeared uninterested in their conversation, before turning back to his uncle. “It feels wrong,” he whispered. “Why should we celebrate Father’s death with laughter? We haven’t even buried his body yet.”  
  
“I completely agree,” Cygnus responded. He glanced around the ballroom once more, unable to keep the sneer off his face. “This is one tradition I will abolish when I become interim king.”   
  
He raised his eyebrow when he turned back to his nephew and was faced with Kreacher’s horrified face. “Is there a problem, Matthias?”   
  
“Of course not, sir,” Kreacher replied quickly, casting his eyes downward.   
  
“Of course not,” Cygnus muttered darkly, his eyes searching Kreacher’s face for any signs of dissatisfaction.  
  
“So you will be king then?” Regulus asked.   
  
“Until you come of age, my dear nephew, I shall act as king in your father’s stead.”   
  
“You mean until Sirius comes of age,” Regulus stated, staring at his uncle in confusion.   
  
Internally, Cygnus winced at his slip-up and berated himself for being so foolish. “Yes, of course,” he replied easily. “I was speaking with you, so my mind merely jumped to the wrong conclusion.”   
  
Regulus accepted the lie easily, nodding absently as he gazed around the full ballroom. Turning to look at Kreacher, he said, “I think I want to sit with my brother awhile.”   
  
“Very well, Master Regulus,” Kreacher said, rising to his feet.   
  
Cygnus grabbed Kreacher’s arm before he could follow Regulus, his fingers tightening around the man’s frail arm. “A moment, Matthias.”   
  
Kreacher visibly paled under Cygnus’s scrutiny but his face remained impassive. “Sir?”   
  
“It has been a long day for my young nephew. Ensure he gets a good night’s sleep,” Cygnus said after a lengthy pause. “Madam Pomfrey will have something for him.”   
  
Kreacher inclined his head slightly. “Of course, sir,” he replied. “Master Sirius as well?”   
  
Cygnus’s grip tightened infinitesimally and his gaze turned from Kreacher towards Sirius, who had his arm thrown around his brother’s shoulders while he laughed with those around him. “No,” he replied softly, slowly releasing his hold on Kreacher’s arm. “I’ll see to it that Sirius is resting peacefully.”   
  
“Very well, sir,” Kreacher said, stepping away from Cyngus and quickly getting lost in the crowd.   
  
Reaching out without a second look, Cygnus snagged a small tumbler from the tray of a passing servant and downed the amber liquid in one gulp.   
  
“And so it begins.”   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Kreacher’s strides were quick and even as he followed the multitude of twists and turns of the castle, leading away from the ballroom and towards the lower level infirmary. He had sent Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the king’s many guards, to accompany the young prince to his room. Now that the king was dead, Kreacher felt an obligation to the princes and he knew his loyalty would remain with them rather than Cygnus Black, despite his contract as an aide to the king. Kreacher grimaced slightly when he thought of the name, feeling the deep ache in his upper arm where Cygnus’s fingers dug into his tender flesh. The king would have never touched anyone in this castle that way, and the thought of this man on the throne in the king’s place left a bitter taste in Kreacher’s mouth.   
  
He almost walked past the infirmary door, too caught up in his thoughts of the king’s brother, but he caught himself last minute and found himself by the black painted door. With his knuckle, he rapped on the door three times and waited for Madam Pomfrey to allow his entrance into her infirmary.   
  
Upon opening the door, Kreacher was taken aback by how tired the healer looked. “Madam Pomfrey,” he greeted her genially.   
  
“I sincerely hope you are not here to tell me someone else is dead, Matthias,” the Healer snapped.   
  
“No, madam. I was instructed to retrieve something for Prince Regulus to help him sleep tonight.”   
  
Madam Pomfrey nodded and opened the door wider, motioning for Kreacher to follow her inside. “I was expecting that,” she replied, showing Kreacher into the large circular room off to the side of the main hospital wing. There was a table of bubbling cauldrons, each with a set of vials beside it waiting to be filled with whatever concoction the woman was brewing.   
  
She walked to the far side of the room and stood over the cauldron, wafting some of the billowing smoke towards her face. “Perfect,” she muttered. “You’re just in time.” She ladled some blue liquid into a vial. She corked one more vial and handed them off to Kreacher before backing him out of the room.   
  
Kreacher looked at her in confusion. “The second vial, Madam Pomfrey?”  
  
She paused in her efforts to shoo him out. “For Master Sirius. I presume you require one for him as well.”   
  
“Master Cygnus,” Kreacher started, stopping to swallow the bile that rose in his throat, “said he would take care of Master Sirius tonight. Has he not been down to collect some sleeping draught?”   
  
“If he had, why would I have handed you two vials?” she snapped in response. “What Master Cygnus does on his time is of no concern to me.”   
  
“It will be when he becomes king,” Kreacher said.   
  
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips but refused to speak on the matter. “It is late,” she said instead. “Get those potions to the princes and make sure they rest well tonight. There is much to do tomorrow in preparation of the king’s funeral.”   
  
“Of course, madam. Thank you.”   
  
The infirmary door closed behind him with a loud bang and Kreacher knew he must get back to Prince Regulus as soon as possible. When he finally opened the door to the young prince’s quarters, he found the boy sitting up by his pillows, legs tucked under his chin.   
  
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher said, pulling one of the vials from an inner pocket of his robes as he slowly made his way across the room. “I have something that will help you sleep.”   
  
“I don’t want it,” Regulus replied petulantly. His bottom lip trembled and he sniffled slightly. “I want Sirius.”   
  
“Your brother is going to take some potion and sleep peacefully in his own room tonight,” Kreacher said, pinching the inside of his wrist as penance for lying to the young prince. “Please drink it, Master Regulus.”   
  
“I’ll have nightmares of Father’s dead face.”   
  
“No, no,” Kreacher said, quick to placate him. “This will put you into a dreamless sleep.”   
  
Regulus looked at Kreacher with wide eyes, the grey of his irises looking more like dull metal in the candlelight that lit his room, and Kreacher closed his own eyes briefly, trying to fight the onslaught of memories of an older man who had oftentimes looked at him that way.   
  
“Do you promise?”   
  
Brown eyes met grey, and for a split moment, Kreacher was back in the king’s bedroom, making different promises. There was no hesitation in his declaration, not then and not now. “I promise.”   
  
He held the vial over Regulus’s bed and waited for him to take it on his own. Regulus stared at it for a few moments, and the only sound in the room was the uneven tempo of their breathing. With a shaking hand, Regulus grasped the vial and uncorked it with his thumb. He drank the liquid contents in one gulp and wiped the back of his arm across his mouth before handing the vial back to Kreacher.   
  
The aide helped Regulus settle down into his bed and he drew the duvet up to the boy’s neck. “Sleep well, Master Regulus,” Kreacher said, with a hint of fondness in the tone of his voice.   
  
Regulus yawned widely but he was too tired to care about formalities. “I thought that’s what the potion was for,” he murmured quietly, before his eyes slid shut and he drifted off to sleep.  
  
Kreacher waited a few moments, listening to Regulus’s deep and steady breathing ; a sign of life that Kreacher desperately tried to hold onto. He sighed heavily – there was no mourning right now, not while he was still on the job. Hidden in the dark shadows of night, there would come a time for tears and regrets but it was not now. He rolled the second vial around in his hand, contemplating bringing it to Master Sirius. He knew that Cygnus told him to leave the oldest prince to him, but deep down, Kreacher wanted to make sure that Sirius was okay, that he was handling the king’s death better than his brother. Making up his mind, Kreacher slipped out of Regulus’s room and hurried down the hall to Sirius’s room, keeping an eye out for Cygnus along the way. He opened the door and peered inside, only to step back in surprise when he was met with nothing but darkness.   
  
“He must already be asleep then,” Kreacher mumbled to himself, and he slipped the vial back into his robes, wondering briefly how much trouble he would be in if he took the potion for himself.  
  
 ** _Scene III_**  
  
For the second night in a row, Cygnus found himself pacing his study. Soon, he feared, the rug would wear thin and his impatience would be revealed to anyone who happened to notice the circle he walked constantly around the room.   
  
He was not a nervous man by nature; he exuded confidence and arrogance like a Black should, and he knew that no one would dare question him once he was made king. But now, it was all he could do not to collapse into his chair by the fire and anxiously pick at his robes. His entire plan relied on this night to go well, and Cygnus hated leaving important jobs to others.   
  
He paused in his pacing in front of the window that overlooked the forest and watched the tree line for any sign of movement. It seemed like a lifetime until, by the light of the moon, Cygnus saw two figures emerge from the forest. He heaved a sigh of relief and sat down in his chair, allowing himself another drink of whiskey while he waited for the men to meet him in his study.   
  
Time was nothing more than a thief of life and Cygnus bemoaned how slowly it seemed to pass in moments of great urgency.   
  
“Finally,” he sighed, standing quickly when he heard the sharp knock at his door. He yanked the door open and ushered the two men inside. “So?”   
  
Dolohov and Carrow shared a look that made the blood in Cygnus’s veins run cold. “What happened?” he hissed, grabbing Dolohov’s robe collar and pulling the man closer to him. “Did you kill the boy or not?”  
  
Dolohov looked terrified but still, he knew better than to lie to Cygnus so he shook his head.   
  
Cygnus exploded and pushed Dolohov away roughly, whipping out his wand. “Why the hell not?”  
  
“You don’t understand, Master,” Carrow said, his hands lifted in the universally accepted sign of peace. “There were others in the woods. They disarmed us, we couldn’t…there was nothin’ we could do.”  
  
“You have hands, don’t you? Why didn’t you bring a knife or something else to get the job done? Don’t you two share an ounce of brain between you? You have ruined everything!” Cygnus was yelling by the time he finished talking.   
  
“We’re sorry, Master,” Dolohov was sputtering. “We didn’t think…”  
  
“Of course you didn’t think,” Cygnus spat. “When do you  _ever_  think, you imbeciles?”   
  
“I threatened him, at least,” Dolohov explained, trying to pacify their irate master. “He won’t be coming back to the castle unless he wants to die. The nights are cold and if the men in the woods that disarmed us came after him, he may not survive anyway.”   
  
“Oh really?” Cygnus lowered his wand and looked at his two servants, the first men that joined the army he had been assembling in secret. “There may be hope for you yet, then,” he said, his voice steady but deadly. “But you will not fail me again.”   
  
 ** _Scene IV_**  
  
Regulus cried out in surprise when he was jolted from sleep by his door slamming open.   
  
“Oh, Master Regulus, thank God you are here,” Moody exclaimed. He stopped briefly to examine the slight damage to the door he caused but shrugged it off and rushed to Regulus’s bedside.   
  
“Have you seen your brother?”   
  
Regulus blinked at the intimidating man in confusion, hesitantly raising his hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Sirius? Is he not asleep?”   
  
Moody opened his mouth to respond but then closed it quickly, glancing back towards the door. Regulus had not noticed earlier but now he saw Kreacher hovering in the doorway. He looked back and forth between the two men. “Where is my brother?” he demanded, shoving his duvet away from him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.   
  
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher started, wringing his hands nervously, and Regulus felt his heart stop momentarily as he remembered the twisted handkerchief in Kreacher’s hands yesterday after his father’s death. “Did your brother…did he say anything to you last night about running away?”   
  
Regulus’s heart sputtered back to its normal rhythm, but he still felt uncomfortable, like his stomach was trying to claw its way out of his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever feel normal again. “Run away? Why would Sirius run away? Why would he leave me alone to deal with this?” Regulus screeched and Kreacher was quick to kneel down before the boy and try to quiet him while Moody looked on helplessly.   
  
“We don’t know what has happened,” Kreacher said. “There was a note, left on his bedside, and some of his clothing is gone.”   
  
“Let me see the note,” Regulus said, holding out his hand, palm up.   
  
“Regulus.” Moody’s tone was low and full of caution.  
  
“I’m the prince and you must do as I say,” Regulus declared. “Give me the note.”   
  
Moody took a piece of folded parchment from his robe pocket and handed it over to Regulus. He watched as Regulus carefully unfolded the note and read the words. Moody had the note memorized, could recite every word Sirius had written that begged for forgiveness and spoke of a firm conviction that he was no more than a broken boy incapable of becoming a king.   
  
Regulus’s face crumpled just like the parchment that was now balled up in his tiny fist. “It’s not true,” he said. He was so convinced of this that the two men that stood there with him almost believed him too.   
  
Regulus felt betrayed and angry that his brother would leave him to deal with their father’s death alone. Not only that, but now the future of their kingdom rested in his hands. He could not rule a kingdom. Being the first born, Sirius had been groomed since birth to take the throne once he was of age. Regulus was only raised knowing that he would always be second in line. He knew little about diplomacy and laws, only what his uncle had told him offhandedly during their lessons. Regulus felt like he was going to vomit.   
  
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, blinking back tears.   
  
How many times would he have to cry until the tears stopped coming? Suddenly angry at his own weakness and his brother’s betrayal, Regulus tore a painting from his wall and threw it at the ground, releasing a loud yell as he did so. The subjects of the paintings rushed from the portrait into the adjacent frame and were now chastising him for his behavior but Regulus didn’t care. He felt torn between feeling relieved and even angrier, itching to destroy something else.   
  
“Master Regulus, please,” Kreacher pleaded with him. “We need your help in finding your brother. We need you to be rational.”   
  
Kreacher sighed heavily, not wanting to see his young charge this upset. They needed a prince now, though, not a young boy with a head full of anger.   
  
“Where would your brother go if he was upset?” Moody asked.   
  
Regulus felt drained now that the anger had slowly ebbed away, leaving him feeling nothing but helpless. He shrugged. “I don’t know. He usually hides in the gardens when he wants time to think.”   
  
Moody’s team had checked the gardens once they found Sirius missing and the note on his bedside. “If your brother was serious about running away he wouldn’t hide in the garden. I need you to think, Master Regulus. Did he mention any friends in the kingdom or any places he wanted to visit outside of the castle?”  
  
“I’ve told you all I know!” Regulus shouted, irritated with their questioning. “I want my brother back as much as you do. I  _need_  him. If I knew  _anything_...”  
  
“Right, of course. My apologies, Master Regulus.”   
  
Regulus waved his apologies off. “I understand you’re frustrated. I’m sorry, I wish I knew more.”   
  
Moody nodded and with a tilt of his head, motioned for Kreacher to exit the room.   
  
“Wait,” Regulus said, gripping the cuff of Moody’s robes as he walked by. “Please. Find my brother and bring him back.”   
  
“I will do my very best,” Moody vowed and the two men left quickly, shutting the door quietly behind them.   
  
The silence and stillness of his room left Regulus feeling claustrophobic and he rose swiftly, seeking some fresh air from his window. As he stepped towards the other side of his room, he found the crumpled piece of parchment at his feet and realized he must have dropped it during his fit of rage.   
  
“Sirius,” he whimpered, and he unfolded the note once more, finding some solace in the familiar lines and loops of his brother’s handwriting.   
  
 ** _Scene V_**  
  
“They have already asked Regulus if he knows anything about his brother’s disappearance,” the man informed Cygnus. “They are on their way to question you.”   
  
Cygnus narrowed his eyes at the sickly-looking, elderly man. “You’re certain they did not see you?”   
  
The man scoffed. “Do not doubt me. The young prince threw a fit and destroyed a portrait. Cassiopeia and Lucretia rushed into Phineas’s frame. No one even took notice of me in the background in the confusion.”  
  
“And what about Arcturus and Lycoris in Sirius’s room?”   
  
“They were questioned but refused to say anything useful about the prince, except that he likes to sleep with his socks on.”  
  
Cygnus smirked. “Excellent.”   
  
The knock came just as he expected and Cygnus sent a pointed look towards the man, who quickly moved through the portraits and out of his study.  
  
Cygnus opened the door to find Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt looking at him with nothing but worry on their faces.   
  
“Oh no,” he moaned, his eyes darting back and forth between the men, reading nothing but fear and panic in the creases around their eyes. “Something else has happened. Tell me, quickly.”   
  
“I’m sorry, sir, but it appears as though Master Sirius has run away.”   
  
“What do you mean?” Cygnus demanded, his voice tinged with concern. “Where could he have gone? He’s only eleven!”   
  
“We don’t know, sir. We’re trying to figure that out and bring him back safely. Has he said anything to you, anything at all, about acquaintances or places he might go during troubled times such as these?”   
  
Cygnus shook his head in disbelief. “No, nothing. Sirius and I were never particularly close. I just can’t believe he would do this. Have you spoken to Regulus?”   
  
“First thing this morning,” Moody assured him. “He is upset, obviously, but he doesn’t know where his brother could be either.”   
  
“Why are you wasting time talking to those who know nothing? All of your men should be scouring the kingdom searching for him!”   
  
“I have men out right now, but we have nothing to go on, sir. He could be anywhere.”   
  
“That’s not good enough!” Cygnus slammed his fist against the wooden frame of his door.   
  
“We’re trying, sir,” Moody said exasperatedly. “We are doing our very best to bring the prince home safe and sound.”   
  
“See to it that you do,” Cygnus threatened, and watched with a grim sense of satisfaction as the men turned and made their way back to the main part of the castle, arguing amongst themselves about their next course of action.   
  
“They’ll never find him,” a voice behind him declared confidently.  
  
Cygnus sighed heavily, the only sign that revealed his underlying worry that his plan would fall apart and leave him with nothing to his name. “We can only hope.” Cygnus turned back into his study and his gaze met that of the elderly man in the portrait above his fireplace.   
  
“If you have hope, then you are richer than half the men in this kingdom,” the old man said.   
  
“I want to be  _the_  richest man in this kingdom.”   
  
“Well, that takes a lot more than hope, son. You need time and patience. You let those slip away and you become sloppy and careless. You will lose everything you have worked hard to obtain. You are not weak. You are not like your sister and her sorry excuse for a husband. You will be the fiercest and most powerful king this kingdom has ever seen. Do not disappoint me for I have sacrificed much to get you this far.”   
  
“I will not fail you, Father,” Cygnus told the man in the portrait. “I will purge this kingdom of all those not worthy enough to take up a wand. This kingdom will be pure once more.”  
  
Pollux nodded in approval. “The  _Noble_  and Most Ancient House of Black will rule once more.”


	4. Act IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a prince, not a vagabond, after all.

**_Scene I_**  
  
Sirius stared in confusion at the three boys in front of him, unable to make sense of what just happened. They couldn’t have been that much older than him, but their obvious mastery of some magic, enough to save him from certain torture, had Sirius awestruck.   
  
The middle one, who had introduced himself as James, still had a wide, crooked grin on his face as he looked at Sirius expectantly. The longer Sirius stared at him in silence, though, the more his grin started slipping into a frown.   
  
“The least you could do is say thank you,” James finally said, running a hand through hair as dark as the night surrounding them, tousled locks sticking out in every direction.   
  
“How did you do that?” he asked instead, unable to mask the curiosity in his tone.   
  
James twirled the long oak wand he held between his fingers as he rocked back on his feet. He stared at Sirius with a thoughtful expression on his face before shrugging. “It’s just magic.”   
  
“You can’t be that much older than me, and I haven’t been allowed to learn the basics yet.”  
  
“When it comes down to living or dying, some sodding magic law isn’t going to stop me from doing what I need to.”  
  
“James,” hissed the boy to his left, giving him a look that Sirius could not decipher.   
  
Sirius took this opportunity to get a look at the other boys. The moonlight did not grant him enough light to see their full features, especially since the other two boys remained half-hidden in the shadows, but he could tell that they were both shorter than James and had lighter-coloured hair. One looked thin and fragile, while the other was stouter.   
  
“What’s the matter, Peter? Afraid he’ll run and tell his mummy that we used magic when we weren’t of age?”  
  
So the stout one was named Peter, Sirius noted curiously. Peter twitched his nose in agitation, but he refused to be baited by James. Instead, he remained quiet and pursed his lips, glaring at Sirius. Sirius huffed quietly but bit back the snide comment that was on the tip of his tongue.   
  
“What are we going to do with him?” the thin one asked.   
  
James looked between Sirius and the two boys flanking him and frowned. “Typical, Remus, wanting to pick up every stray. We can’t feed another mouth.”   
  
The boy named Remus shuffled his feet anxiously and Sirius bit back a gasp as he stepped further into the light, revealing a face marred by long, jagged scars. Remus’s eyes flickered to the young prince, still sitting uncomfortably on the cold, hard ground.   
  
“We can’t just leave him here.”  
  
“I don’t want to owe you for anything. Just let me go,” Sirius interjected, feeling uneasy under James’s watchful eye.   
  
“You already owe us for saving your life,” James said, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. His gaze was calculating and Sirius squirmed when he suddenly smirked. “I’ll take those fine-looking socks you have on your feet as payment for our services. They look nice and warm, and my poor feet are getting a little cold now that the seasons are changing.”   
  
James wiggled his toes and Sirius could see his big toe poking out of a hole in the cracked, worn leather of the shoes he wore. Sirius frowned and looked down at his thick socks, green and black threads interwoven in a delicate pattern. They were an old pair Regulus had given him a few Christmases past and while they held some sentimental value, the sudden chill that ripped through him as the wind picked up reminded him that he wore no shoes and was dressed in his sleeping attire.   
  
James, having spent the last few years fending for himself, and then later on Peter and Remus as well, learned how to read other people fairly quickly; a necessity, if he was to survive the forest and all the dangers it contained. He could sense Sirius’s hesitation and while he could really use the socks, he proffered another means of payment. “What’s so important about you?”  
  
Sirius lifted his gaze from his socks and shook his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”  
  
It took James a great deal of restraint to not roll his eyes. “Those men wanted you dead. Why?”   
  
Again, Sirius hesitated and James didn’t think he did much without putting a lot of thought into it. “Well, come on then, we don’t have all night.”   
  
“I don’t know!” Sirius exclaimed. While these boys did save his life, revealing he was the prince and next in line for the throne did not seem like the safest move at that moment. He frowned suddenly, wondering then if he even still held the title now that he was banished from his own home upon threat of death.   
  
“Well, you’ve got some fancy schmancy socks on your feet,” James drawled, and Sirius got the distinct impression that the other two boys didn’t speak much and just let James do all the talking. He stepped forward and fingered the cloth of Sirius’s pajamas before laughing breathlessly. “That feels like real silk. You’re filthy rich, aren’t you?”  
  
“We could always take him and hold him for ransom,” Peter finally spoke up gleefully. “Think of the money he’d be worth.” His eyes widened as his thoughts drifted towards piles of gold and finally being able to afford a warm bed to sleep in.   
  
“Please,” Sirius pleaded with them, slightly ashamed as his voice cracked. He thought of Scarface and Crooked-Teeth, the cruel, angry words they had spat at him, and the threat that hung over his head. “They’ll kill me if I go back. It would be best if I stayed away, at least for a while. Could you… could you at least untie me and I’ll be on my way? You can have my socks, just please don’t hurt me.” He held his wrists out and grimaced when the tight ropes rubbed at his already raw skin.   
  
James knelt down quickly and yanked the socks off Sirius’s feet, sighing happily when he felt how thick and warm the material was. “I don’t think I remember the spell to cut rope, do you, Peter?” James grinned, once he had rejoined his companions.   
  
“Can’t say I do.” Peter threw Sirius a nasty smirk before turning his sight towards James and eyeing him enviously when he slipped his shoes off to hastily pull the socks onto his feet.   
  
Sirius cursed quietly under his breath, realizing quickly that he had been deceived. His eyes started to water and he scrunched them closed to stave off the tears, wincing when he felt a sharp pain from the scrape on his cheek.   
  
James tossed a cheeky grin back in his direction once his feet were safely and warmly ensconced in both Sirius’s socks and his own shoes. “Thanks for the socks, mate. Best be off now, it is way past our bedtime!”   
  
James turned on his heel with Peter following quickly behind him. Remus paused for a moment, biting his lip with an uncertain expression on his face. He glanced at the swiftly disappearing backs of his friends and muttered, “Damn it all to hell,” before he whipped out his own stolen wand. “ _Diffindo_.”  
  
The ropes tying Sirius’s hands and feet together were sliced, falling in coils to the forest floor. Sirius sighed in relief, rubbing the red, raw skin. He looked up as Remus started jogging to catch up to the other two boys. “Thank you,” he called out, but Remus had vanished easily, slipping silently into the shadows of the forest like a ghost, and Sirius wasn’t sure if he had even heard him.   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Word spread quickly through the castle that Prince Sirius had run away. Maids muttered to one another while directing brooms and dusters with flicks of their wands and the portraits jumped from frame to frame, gossiping like old women.  
  
Dumbledore hid himself away in his tower office, a fairly large oval room the king had bestowed upon his favorite advisor for times when the man sought solitude from the castle’s constant hum of activity. The walls were painted a deep red with gold trim and wooden shelves lined much of the room, filled with books of various sizes and knick-knacks he had accumulated over his years of travel. It was home. Now, he sat at his desk as his eyes feasted upon the words written on various pieces of parchment and books scattered across the wooden desktop.   
  
The king’s death did not sit well with Dumbledore. He knew the monarch struggled to rule his kingdom and household while drowning under the weight of his grief, but it had been nearly a decade since the loss of his wife and his death seemed too sudden to be anything but suspicious. While Moody had determined the king had died of natural causes, Dumbledore knew the man better than anyone else in the castle and as far as he was concerned, Orion had been perfectly healthy right up until his death. With the prince disappearing and Cygnus poised to take the throne until either prince was of age, Dumbledore was as desperate as ever to determine the cause of Orion’s death.   
  
Currently, he was researching different spells that may have been used. Moody claimed that there was no sign of spell work present in the king’s chambers aside from those used by the Healer. Dumbledore, however, was determined to see if there was a spell in existence that could possibly evade the Detection magic used by the Head Guard. He flipped through pages of both ancient and more recent books as he skimmed the text, frantically seeking answers. So far he had no luck, but Dumbledore’s loyalties to Orion and his sons laid deep and the uneasiness he felt around Cygnus pushed him towards more sleepless nights.   
  
 _ **Scene III**_  
  
Sirius shivered violently as the bitter wind nipped at his fragile, bare skin. The silk he wore may have been expensive but it did little to protect him from the weather; it was nothing more than something pretty to admire. Commoners assumed that the life of the royal family was all glitter and glamour, and Sirius would be lying if he said it wasn’t. But he thought it all rather dull –the balls, the fine china, and delicate linens – there was nothing of substance to any of it. He had grand ideas for when he would be king, if he was to ever be king, but now he wasn’t sure if he’d make it until morning. He was curled up as tightly as he could between the large exposed roots of a tree, the low-hanging branches offering some shelter. His toes were numb and his feet stung if he moved them at all, little pebbles that littered the ground digging into his soft skin. He cursed James and his own inability to bargain with the boy.  
  
Sirius did not sleep at all that night, and he sighed in relief when the sky began to lighten to a dull gray. He whimpered when he tried to uncurl himself, muscles protesting sharply at the movement. His breath came out in short gasps as he lurched to his feet, tears slipping from beneath his eyelids before he could stop them as he leaned heavily against the tree for support. The pain in his feet was almost unbearable and Sirius sucked in a shuddering breath before attempting to stumble forward. Unable to support his weight, he fell heavily to his knees.  
  
“I’m surprised you made it through the night. Why didn’t you ask to come along with us?” a quiet voice suddenly asked, breaking through the early morning silence.   
  
Sirius whipped his head around, groaning at the pain from the kink in his neck, and he almost cried in relief when he saw Remus leaning against a tree, holding a goblet in his hands.  
  
He licked his lips, feeling how dry and cracked they were and desperately wished for some water. “My pride,” he croaked, suddenly ashamed that he could have died because he did not wish to come across as a charity case; he was a prince, not a vagabond, after all.  
  
“Here,” Remus said, kneeling beside Sirius and pressing the goblet into his hands. “Drink up.”   
  
Sirius’s hands trembled as he brought the cup to his lips. The water was cold and while Sirius was grateful that Remus decided to come back for him, he half-wished the water was warmer, as he was already chilled to the bone. He lifted his eyes to see Remus watching him carefully, and while he gulped down the water, he got a closer look at the boy. His face was disfigured by four lines of raised, puckered skin, darker than his pale complexion, stretching from his left eye to his right jaw. Remus ducked his head, his light-coloured skin tainted by a slight blush.   
  
“What happened to you?”  
  
“Don’t.” Remus’s voice took on a hard edge to it and Sirius nodded quickly to appease the boy. “Come on, James said I could take you home.”   
  
“I don’t think I can walk,” Sirius shamefully admitted.   
  
Remus sighed but didn’t say anything to embarrass him further. Instead, he slipped out of his coat and helped Sirius into it. Then he threw Sirius’s arm across his shoulder, grabbing his hand with his own, and wrapped his other arm around Sirius’s waist, pulling the younger boy to his feet.   
  
“Does this work?”   
  
They took a few tentative steps and though Sirius tended to drag his feet a bit, he agreed that it would work. The walk back towards the boys’ cabin took longer than usual, but the more Sirius walked, the less painful his feet began to feel.   
  
By the time he could see smoke curling and drifting up above the canopy of trees, it was mid-morning and Remus and Sirius were now walking at a brisk pace to reach the warmth of the house. Sirius stood silently in front of the dilapidated cabin, with its wooden planks slightly rotted and one of the front shutters dangling from its hinges. It wasn’t a palace, by any means, but after the night he had had, Sirius almost raced for the front door, his body already warmed by the thought of a fire and a blanket to keep the chill away.   
  
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” James declared, and Sirius flushed, both from embarrassment and the sudden heat from the fire the boys seemed to have conjured with magic. Peter was wrapped up in a blanket in a corner, refusing to look at Sirius.   
  
The cabin itself was barely furnished. There were piles of blankets in three of the corners, which Sirius assumed were the boys’ beds, and a small fireplace. Three thick, long, charred sticks leaned against the wall, and a pot hung from a crudely-made hook in the fireplace. On a shelf rested a few chipped, mismatched bowls and some brand-new goblets that had Sirius wondering if they were stolen. It seemed likely, given the state of the cabin and the clothes the boys wore.  
  
James had his feet up on a rickety old table, leaning back in an equally unstable chair, and he wiggled his toes, clad in Sirius’s warm, black socks. “Thanks again for the socks. They kept my feet toasty warm last night. It was a bit cold out, no?” He smiled, then, a predatory smile that made Sirius shiver.   
  
Remus shoved James hard as he passed by on his way to the fire and the wooden chair splintered as James toppled to the floor. “Shove off, James. Give the poor boy a break. He could’ve lost his toes last night.”   
  
James simply laughed and with the flick of his wrist, the splinters came back together in a haphazard manner, making the chair even more unsteady. Then he bowed to Sirius with an over-exaggerated flourish. “Welcome to our humble abode. We are but mere marauders, so we have nothing except our paltry belongings. So long as you can provide for your own food, you can stay.”   
  
He was almost frightened to ask. “By what means?”   
  
Remus hid a smirk behind the lip of the cup he was drinking from and James smiled, slightly condescendingly. Sirius briefly wondered if he knew how to look any other way. “Is that your way of asking if we steal our food?”   
  
“Perhaps.”   
  
“Perhaps? Listen to his proper talk. You really are a privileged little snot, aren’t you?  _Perhaps_  Peter had the right idea with the ransom.”   
  
Now that he was warmed by the fire and the adrenaline from last night had worn off, Sirius began contemplating the seriousness of Crooked-Teeth’s threats. He could always risk his life to return, call the men’s bluff and re-take his place as the future king. But then he remembered the pain of the Cruciatus Curse and the fear that made his heart gallop faster than his favourite racing horse when Crooked-Teeth tried to murder him using the Killing Curse. Was it worth the risk? Kings should be strong and brave and here he was, cowering in some abandoned cabin after being robbed of his socks by some thieving boys not much older than he was. What kind of king did that make him?   
  
“Please don’t,” he finally said fearfully.  
  
James fixed him with a hard stare. “Are you sure, rich boy? We don’t have any of the comforts you are used to. Our only belongings are those we can manage to steal. These are hard times for everyone and villagers don’t hand out money to poor, orphaned boys as freely as they used to. You could go home with your fancy clothes and your extravagant life.”  
  
“I don’t want to die.” The sleeve of Remus’s coat was long and covered most of his hand; he fingered the cuff anxiously, pleading with his eyes.   
  
James finally sighed in resignation but Peter began to cry out in protest. “What does it matter if he dies? Imagine the money we could get for him. Once they have him back, he’s not our responsibility.”   
  
“Have a heart, Peter!” Remus exclaimed angrily. “James and I took you in and nursed you back to health when you had nowhere else to go.”  
  
Peter frowned and pulled the blanket tighter around his chubby body. “It’s been just the three of us for years. We don’t need anyone else. This could be our biggest payout yet, but you and your bleeding heart want to save everyone. One more person means less food and clothing for the rest of us.”   
  
“You could benefit from a little less food,” James shot back, and Sirius almost felt bad when he heard Peter suck in a sharp breath and pull the blanket up over his head.   
  
“James,” Remus murmured, shooting the blanket lump that was Peter a sympathetic look. “That was a bit harsh.”   
  
“Too fucking bad,” James growled, and Sirius flinched at the crude word coming from the mouth of such a young boy. In that moment, he wanted to know what each of their stories were, what drove them to such squalor in order to survive. “He’s being a selfish prat, questioning my decision. Who does he think he is? Maybe we could give this kid some of his blankets too.”   
  
Remus rolled his eyes but motioned Sirius closer to the fire. “Hey, what’s your name?”   
  
He briefly contemplating making up a name, but in the end decided that trying to remember to respond to said false name was more work than it was worth. “Sirius.”   
  
“All right, Sirius. I’m Remus, if you didn’t know that already. You know James, and that’s Peter,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the blanket lump. “You can have some of my blankets until we can scavenge some more scraps.”  
  
Remus began yanking a few blankets from his pile and shoved them into Sirius’s arms. “You can go sleep in that corner. You look like you haven’t slept all night, so take a nap. James and I are going to head out into the forest and see if our traps caught any food. You can have some of our meat until we teach you how to make your own snares and traps. Any vegetables or bread you want to eat with your meat is usually stolen out of nearby villagers’ garbage.” He smiled, and he wasn’t patronizing like James when Sirius wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’ll get used to it. Though you might get sick the first few times.”   
  
“Sounds pleasant.”   
  
“You’re quite welcome to go back to your posh life, rich boy, where you may or may not be murdered,” James said, his ill-fitting jacket dwarfing his lanky frame. “Obviously we could care less, except for maybe Remus. He’d probably cry. He has a soft spot for strays, if you haven’t noticed.”   
  
“I’m compassionate, James,” Remus sniffed. “There’s a difference.”   
  
“Bleeding heart.” James repeated Peter’s previous words, but these were said with affection and not malice. James ruffled Remus’s hair, only to be elbowed in the gut. Sirius smiled in amusement as James was bent over at the waist, gasping for air. “Watch it! Your elbow is pointy.”   
  
“You deserved it.” Remus was digging through another pile beside his blankets and said a quiet ‘Aha!’ when he pulled out another jacket. “You keep that one, Sirius, and go to sleep. We’ll be back before nightfall.”   
  
Sirius shuffled over to his designated corner, but shot an uncomfortable glance towards Peter. James snorted, pulling a hunting knife off the shelf by the fire and slipping it behind his belt. “He’s harmless.”   
  
“Until he decides he’d rather have me dead,” Sirius muttered as the door closed with a loud thud behind the two boys. He knelt on the floor to build his cocoon of warmth, groaning when he remembered falling earlier and scraping up his knees. Casting another quick look at Peter and not seeing any movement, Sirius crawled into the blankets, and after shoving one of them under his head for a pillow, he fell into a dreamless sleep.   
  
 ** _Scene IV_**  
  
With the rest of the servants retired for the evening, Kreacher and Dumbledore walked along one of the lower level corridors where there was little chance for them to be overheard. The two men had been advisors to the king for many years together and both mourned the loss of not only a leader, but of a great friend.   
  
“How is the young prince faring with all of this turmoil?” Dumbledore questioned as they paused. He glanced quickly at Kreacher out of the corner of his eye and then turned his attention to the wall closest to him, examining the extensive Black family tree; the names sewn into green velvet with silver thread.   
“As well as any young man, who has just lost both his father and brother can. I was expecting a much larger tantrum this morning and I was afraid he would need another Calming Draught. It is only a matter of time, though. I do not believe Regulus is prepared for all that is expected of him.”   
  
“No,” Dumbledore agreed. “I fault Cygnus’s teaching methods for excluding Regulus from learning about the duties of the heir. He was too confident that Sirius would be the next ruler. We all were. Now we have a prince who knows nothing about ruling a kingdom and a man on the throne who will use him as a puppet.”   
  
Dumbledore’s eyes focused on Cygnus’s name, tracing his lineage back to Phineas Nigellus, who was also a second-born son that took the crown after his own brother, Sirius, failed to live past his eighth year. Phineas was a hard ruler, Dumbledore recalled from old texts and diaries, and he followed generations before him that tried to purify the pureblood lineage, a goal that had yet to be successful.   
  
Kreacher frowned, his eyes darting back and forth to gauge the surrounding portraits’ interest in their conversation. None of them seemed particularly enthralled, but one would rather be safe than sorry.   
  
“You truly believe that?” he asked quietly.   
  
Dumbledore sighed heavily, and Kreacher could tell that the last few days weighed heavily on the older man’s mind. There were bags under his eyes and a weariness that had not been there days before. “It is a situation that I have thought probable. It is impossible to tell at this moment what Cygnus’s plans for this kingdom are, but I have a feeling that we will find out soon enough. We can discuss this matter in greater detail in more private quarters, Matthias.”   
  
Kreacher bowed his head slightly. “Of course. How are the funeral plans coming along?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject as the two men continued to stroll along the corridor.   
  
“Most of the arrangements have been made and everything should be completed on schedule for the funeral to be held two days from now. Cygnus’s coronation will follow three days after that.”   
  
“How wonderful,” Kreacher replied dryly.   
  
“Matthias,” Dumbledore warned, though he silently agreed with the sentiment.   
  
The two men came to an intersection. “I should leave you to your evening,” Kreacher said, motioning towards the hall on the left that would take him to the back stairs and up into the prince’s personal corridor. “I would like to check on Regulus before I retire.”   
  
“Of course. Please pass along my well wishes to the young prince. I hope Alastor finds Sirius soon.”  
  
“As we all do,” Kreacher responded sadly before offering Dumbledore a brief wave farewell.   
  
Dumbledore continued straight until he reached another staircase that spiralled up into the towers. He took the stairs quickly, opening the door on his left once he reached the first landing, stepping into his own office. He slipped a vial out of his pocket and took a swig of the vibrant blue liquid he asked Madam Pomfrey to brew for him; he would need it if he was to get any research done tonight, his drowsy body already fighting against the effects of the draught. He collapsed in his chair, waiting a few minutes until he began to feel rejuvenated, and then drew the pile of parchments that were scattered across his desk closer to him, determined still to find an answer.   
  
 ** _Scene V_**  
  
Sirius was startled awake by a loud bang and raucous laughter. He poked his head out of his blankets and found James and Remus stumbling into the cabin, James with a string of hares tossed over his shoulder and Remus carrying a pile of clothes in his arms. He shivered, noting that the fire had died down since he fell asleep, and, casting a glance at the motionless lump, determined that Peter hadn’t been awake at all either to tend to the flames.   
  
“Can’t even keep a fire going, rich boy?” James teased, but it was light-hearted and Sirius wondered what had happened out in the forest to make James ease up on him a bit. He shrugged in response but said nothing else when he finally extracted himself from his makeshift bed. He shuffled over to the table where Remus was untying the hares and watched James pull out his wand, uttering a spell that shot an orb of fire into the smouldering tinder.   
  
“What are you going to do with those?”   
  
Remus and James shared a look and then turned to him with identical grins. “You ever skin a hare, Sirius?” Remus asked, reaching behind him to pull out his hunting knife. Sirius noticed James had his out as well and was slicing through the skin along the back of the animal.  
  
Sirius’s stomach turned unpleasantly. He was familiar with the meat of the creature, Ms Winky having often cooked it in a hearty stew, but he never saw any part of the animal except what had already been cooked. “I don’t know if I can do this.”   
  
“If you expect to eat our food, you need to help with the cooking. Remus and I will do it this time, but you need to watch carefully because we’ll expect you to help.”   
  
Sirius thought he might get sick a couple of times while he watched Remus and James prepare the hares for cooking, but he managed to make it through their demonstration with nothing more than a newfound admiration for Ms Winky and those who helped her in the kitchen. The two boys sliced the meat into small chunks, easy enough to eat in a stew as well as skewered on the sticks Sirius had noticed sitting by the fire. Remus rummaged through a basket he had not seen earlier, and pulled out some herbs, carrots and onions. He shoved them in Sirius’s direction and nodded to his knife. “Cut those for the stew.”   
  
Sirius stared at him helplessly before he took the knife and tried to remember what Ms Winky’s vegetables looked like before attempting to do the same. Remus was sorting through the clothes he had brought in and he glanced over Sirius’s shoulder a few times, nodding his approval. James had brought in some old metal pails from outside, filled with water that he then poured into the cooking pot.   
  
“There’s a stream straight back behind the cabin,” James said in response to Sirius’s questioning glance. “You about done with those?”   
  
Sirius looked down and shrugged. “I suppose so.”   
  
“Good enough.”   
  
With a swish of James’s wand, the water began to boil slightly, so Sirius helped him carry the herbs and vegetables over to the pot and dumped them in, followed by half of the meat.   
  
“We’ll let it cook overnight,” Remus said, pulling on a knitted sweater over the shirt he was wearing and then laying a small pile beside Sirius’s bed. “Here are some clothes for you to wear so you aren’t left wearing your fancy nightclothes.”  
  
“Thanks,” Sirius replied, grateful now that they were willing to come back for him.   
  
“Oi, Peter, get your lazy arse up and help us cook the rest of this meat for tonight’s dinner,” James cried, aiming a well-placed kick to Peter’s round bottom.   
  
With an indignant squeak, Peter emerged from his bed with a face red from the warmth of his bed. The three boys skewered the meat on their sticks and took turns cooking over the fire, laughing and joking as though they didn’t have a care in the world. Sirius had sat back down on his bed and watched them wistfully, wishing he was home laughing with Regulus. He was envious of their seemingly easy friendship and wondered how he would fit into the dynamic that took years for them to create.   
  
Remus turned to him then, a gentle smile on his face, and beckoned him over to join them. Their inside jokes were lost on him but he tried to slip into the conversation as if he had always belonged there, which only drove the boys to make fun of his posh and out-of-place accent. Sirius ducked his head in embarrassment, but Peter nudged him with his shoulder and tilted his skewer of meat in Sirius’s direction as a peace offering. Sirius smiled his thanks and knew then that making fun of him was simply their way of letting him know they were starting to accept him.


	5. Act V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just a boy,” Regulus whispered. “I don’t have the strength to carry a kingdom.” 
> 
> Mrs. Weasley patted his arm. “Not yet,” she said with a smile. “But you will.”

**_Scene I_**  
  
The grounds beneath Cygnus’s window were bustling with servants arranging small side tables topped with vases of lilies and irises, lining the path the pallbearers would take to the king’s grave. He heard the men shouting orders to each other as they arranged the tables, centering the flowers perfectly. Cygnus frowned as he watched the servants using magic, making a mental note of another practice he would banish once he was king.   
  
The morning was bleak; there was not a cloud in sight, but the sky remained gray, no sunlight to be found. He found it to be fitting for the occasion. Tired of watching the staff readying the gardens for the funeral, Cygnus turned towards his wardrobe to dress for the day. There was a hesitant knock on his door, and a frail, timid boy stepped into his room upon his command.   
  
“Sir, do you need help getting dressed?”   
  
Cygnus looked at the boy suspiciously, having never been offered help dressing before. The boy trembled slightly beneath his scrutinizing stare, but remained rooted to the spot where he stood. “What is the purpose of you being here?”   
  
“I was told to offer you assistance, should you need it, sir. I helped the king with his wardrobe, and since you will be king shortly…” The boy trailed off, looking at Cygnus uncertainly.   
  
“Very well. What is your name, boy?” Cygnus demanded, turning back towards his robes, still undecided on the most appropriate garment to wear to his brother-in-law’s funeral.   
  
The boy shuffled closer. “Verrill, sir. Would you like me to choose your outfit?”   
  
Cygnus sat on the edge of his bed, sighing heavily before waving Verrill forward. The boy combed through Cygnus’s wardrobe, occasionally shooting glances towards him before turning back to the task at hand. Finally, Verrill emerged with a stiffly starched white button down shirt and a pair of pants the color of slate, which matched his eyes. Verrill laid the clothes down next to him on the bed and then turned to pull out a suitable robe as Cygnus slipped off his nightclothes and into the outfit chosen for him. The pants hung a little loosely around his waist, his protruding hipbones and lanky frame evidence of the stress he had endured the last few weeks taking its toll on his aging body.   
  
“I’m sure one of the tailors wouldn’t mind taking those pants in,” Verrill offered, as he helped Cygnus into the robe he had selected. Cygnus hummed his approval as he felt the soft velour of the robe against his skin. The robe was black, the only acceptable color to wear to a funeral, and Cygnus was pleased to note the intricate silver stitching along the collar and sleeves. He stood up straight and examined himself in the full-length mirror, satisfied with Verrill’s choices. He smiled at his image; he looked proud and regal, like a king. Now all he needed was the crown.   
  
There was another soft knock on his door before it swung open, and a head of blonde ringlets peeked into his room.   
  
“Father,” Cissy greeted him, slipping into his room with a soft smile upon her face as she looked at her father dressed in his funeral garments. She placed both hands on his forearms and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “You look handsome.”   
  
“You are beautiful, my dear daughter.”   
  
Cissy was dressed in a floor-length black dress that cinched in tightly to accentuate her delicate waist. Her blonde hair was pulled up and back, held in place by dozens of black pins, and her face was framed by small ringlets. She was still young, but Cygnus knew that once he was king, he would have many suitors seeking the youngest Black daughter’s hand in marriage. When she was of age, he was certain he would have no trouble finding her a suitable husband, a respectable pureblood that played well into his plans for the future of their kingdom.   
  
“Where are your sisters?”   
  
Cissy glanced at Verrill curiously before addressing her father. “I’m not sure where ‘Dromeda is, but Bella is husband-hunting among the guests that have arrived for Uncle Orion’s funeral.”   
  
“Is she, now? Has anyone caught her eye?”   
  
She was examining herself in her father’s mirror, and she twisted back and forth, watching with delight as her skirt fluttered up off the ground with every turn. She shrugged in response to her father’s question. “She has barely uttered a word to me since the men began arriving two nights prior.”   
  
Catching Verrill listening to their conversation intently, Cygnus snapped, “You are dismissed, boy.”   
  
The young boy scampered out of the room quickly, and Cissy shot her father a questioning glance. “What was he doing in here?”  
  
“He used to be Orion’s attendant. He has since been passed on to me.”   
  
“Once you’re king, will I get new servants, too?”   
  
Cygnus looked fondly upon his daughter. “What is wrong with the ones you have now?”   
  
“Nothing, Father. It’s just that one can never have too many servants, that’s all.”   
  
“We’ll see, Cissy.”   
  
Cissy beamed at him, those words as good a confirmation as anything from her father. Adjusting his robes once more, Cygnus placed his hand flat between Cissy’s shoulder blades and gently led her out of his room.   
  
“Are you ready for this, Father?”   
  
Closing his door tightly behind them, Cygnus offered his daughter a cocky grin. “I have been ready for  _years_ , my darling daughter.”   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Regulus burrowed himself further under his duvet, trying to block out the noises of the servants setting up outside and to hide himself from Kreacher, who had been trying to rouse the young prince for nearly a quarter of an hour.   
  
“Master Regulus, please,” Kreacher pleaded with him, trying to pry the duvet from his tight grasp. Finally giving up the fight, Regulus flopped back on his back and stared forlornly at the advisor, who was staring expectantly at him. “You needed to be up half an hour ago.”   
  
“Don’t make me go to the funeral, Kreacher.” Regulus’s lower lip quivered, and his eyes welled with tears.   
  
Kreacher’s face softened. “I know this is difficult for you, but the kingdom is expecting your presence.”   
  
Regulus’s eyes flashed with anger, and Kreacher braced himself for the tantrum that was surely to come. “The kingdom may have lost their king, but I lost my  _father._  I can’t…” He sniffled, and fat tears streamed down his face, plopping loudly on the duvet. “If I go to the funeral, then that’s accepting that Father is dead.”   
  
Kreacher stared at the young prince, at a loss for words. He was saved from his floundering by a sharp knock. Mrs. Weasley bustled in, carrying a silver tray with a cup of tea and a flask of some unknown liquid. If she was surprised that Regulus was not yet out of bed, she said nothing.  
  
“I brought you some tea, Master Regulus,” she said gently, placing the tray down on the bedside table. Tenderly, she brushed his dark locks from his forehead, and Regulus wanted to cry again. She was the closest thing he had ever known to a mother and she was staring at him with so much sympathy, he wanted to hide under his blanket again and skip this day entirely.   
  
“Please don’t make me go, Mrs. Weasley,” he begged. He widened his eyes and stuck out his trembling bottom lip exactly as Sirius had taught him; it was foolproof, his brother had said. No one could say ‘no’ to him.   
  
Hope crept up Regulus’s spine as the adults shared a glance, but then terrible waves of disappointment crashed over him as he saw Mrs. Weasley give Kreacher a barely perceptible shake of her head. It was Kreacher who delivered the bad news.   
  
“Get out of bed, Master Regulus,” Kreacher demanded.   
  
“No! You can’t tell me what to do,” Regulus cried petulantly, yanking the duvet back over his head.   
  
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and fisted the sheets beneath him, desperate for something real to cling to. His head was swimming with memories of his father, of his brother, and Regulus wished he could relive them all rather than remain in the present. Here, he was alone. He did not want to bear witness to his father being laid to rest beside his mother, both entombed by wood and earth, resting peacefully somewhere he could not reach them.   
  
“We do not have time for this, Master Regulus,” Kreacher said, and Regulus felt a sliver of remorse at the frustration in the aide’s voice. “The funeral starts in half an hour.”   
  
Mrs. Weasley sat down on the bed beside him, gently pulling the covers down to reveal his face. “Oh, my sweet boy, everyone is grieving the loss of not only a great king, but a great man. The kingdom needs to know that you can share in their grief. They will look to you for strength to deal with this terrible tragedy.”   
  
“I’m just a boy,” Regulus whispered. “I don’t have the strength to carry a kingdom.”   
  
Mrs. Weasley patted his arm. “Not yet,” she said with a smile. “But you will.”   
  
With a sigh, Regulus pulled himself into a seated position, and didn’t fuss when Mrs. Weasley handed him the flask. He took a swig and grimaced at the taste. “What is that?” he sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.   
  
“Just a little something Madam Pomfrey whipped up for you to help you get through the day. Here, drink some tea, and I’ll leave you with Kreacher to get dressed. Hurry up.”   
  
Regulus took a big gulp of tea to rid his mouth of the horrible aftertaste, scalding his tongue in the process. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, before she had the chance to leave the room.   
  
“We are all here for you, Master Regulus. Don’t think that you’re alone in this,” she reassured him, and with a final tender smile, she left him to dress.   
  
Regulus released a long sigh before swinging his legs over the side of his bed. He wrinkled his nose when Kreacher handed him a pile of clothes, but quickly dressed in his funeral garb without complaint.   
  
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus murmured, fidgeting with the sleeves of his dress robe.   
  
“Are you ready for this, Master Regulus?” Kreacher asked as he led the boy out of his bedroom and down the corridor towards the main staircase.   
  
Regulus’s stomach was churning uncomfortably, and he thought he might vomit all over his freshly polished shoes. He shook his head jerkily. “I don’t think I could ever be ready,” he admitted, suddenly afraid of what finally burying his father meant for him.   
  
“Remember what Mrs. Weasley said,” Kreacher reminded him. “You are not alone.”   
  
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Regulus tried to ground himself before continuing down the stairs. He may have been a prince, but he was no master of time, and there was nothing more he could do to avoid the inevitable.   
  
 ** _Scene III_**  
  
Cygnus stared straight ahead at the solid oak casket that held the body of his brother-in-law. He gave no outward sign of emotion, but he was relieved that it seemed no one had suspected any foul play surrounding the king’s death. Cygnus was certain that his secret would be buried with Orion, several feet below the ground.   
  
He glanced around absently, taking note of all the commoners that had gathered in the upper balconies of the castle’s personal church. Cygnus noted with pleasure that the servants had ensured that those of pure, noble blood were the only ones seated in the pews. A majority of the purebloods had made the journey to the castle to attend the funeral of their king, those that held titles filling rooms that had been empty for years, and the rest spilling out into nearby inns. The dense conglomeration of bodies had Cygnus sweating.  
  
Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Cygnus turned to his right and noticed Regulus beside him, clenching and unclenching his fists against his thighs. He gently patted the boy’s hand and Regulus released a shaky breath before squeezing his hand, the boy’s palm slick with sweat against his own.   
  
His middle daughter, Andromeda, sat on his left, and with her long brown hair pulled away from her face, she reminded him of his late wife, Druella. She peered around him to offer her cousin a sympathetic smile. Druella had died a few years ago, and he hoped his daughters would be able to help Regulus deal with his grief. If his plans to build the kingdom back to its former glory were ever to come to fruition, Cygnus needed a future king, not a sniveling, pitiful boy.   
  
Father Doge interrupted Cygnus’s internal thoughts when he cleared his throat. The white-haired priest, one Orion had sought counsel from on many occasions, stood before the tomb, dressed in long, flowing, blood-red robes – a stark contrast to the mass of black before him. He motioned with his hands for the congregation to stand, and for a few moments, there was nothing but the low murmur of voices and the creaking wood of the old pews as everyone rose to their feet. Father Doge did not say a word until everyone had fallen silent, and only then did he begin to lead the crowd in prayer. Cygnus knew these prayers by heart, and barely paid attention as the words slipped as easily from his lips as everyday conversation.   
  
“Today, there is no separation of blood. Today, we are just a kingdom brought together as equals to mourn the loss of our beloved king,” Father Doge proclaimed, once everyone had settled down again. “Let us forget our prejudices as we join hands and hearts to offer solace to the royal family, who feels King Orion’s absence more than any of us.”   
  
Cygnus felt hands on his back, squeezing his arms, all meant to be comforting. He knew there were those among them that would be valuable allies once he started putting his plans into motion, but he allowed himself a brief moment to wonder if they would have offered him their support had they known his role in Orion’s death.   
  
So caught up in his thoughts, Cygnus didn’t notice Father Doge had turned the floor over to Dumbledore until the old aide began to speak. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Cygnus quickly gave Dumbledore his full attention, eager to hear what the man had to say about his king and the crowd’s reactions to his revelations. This was the only way Cygnus could gauge the purebloods’ loyalty to their king, his only reassurance that he would have the public’s backing of his ambitious dreams for their kingdom.  
  
“It is with great sadness that we are gathered here to celebrate the life of a man who died far too young,” Dumbledore started, his eyes scanning the crowd as he spoke. “King Orion ruled this kingdom much like he ran his household – with a firm but gentle hand. His kind and thoughtful sons are evidence of how wonderful of a father he was, and we can only hope that our kingdom can continue to thrive under the precedents he has left behind.   
  
“King Orion was a fierce proponent of equality amongst not only wizards, but all magical creatures. Before he died, he was working diligently on enacting new laws to further integrate us all, and I can only hope Cygnus will honor King Orion’s legacy by finishing what he has left behind.”   
  
There was a slight murmur through the crowd at Dumbledore’s words, enough for Cygnus to catch wind of the discontent of some of the purebloods in the crowd. Dumbledore stared straight at him then, and he allowed himself a slightly mocking smile, knowing full well that once he was crowned king, he would reverse what Orion spent an entire lifetime trying to accomplish.   
  
“As Father Doge so kindly reminded us, today we stand together as one. Each of our hearts beat the same broken rhythm as we all feel the loss of a leader, a friend, and a father. Never forget what King Orion has done for you, for this kingdom, and his memory shall live in us forever. Long live the king!” Dumbledore cried, and the entire church joined in his cry, voices echoing loudly in the large, stone church.   
  
 ** _Scene IV_**  
  
As the pallbearers readied his father’s casket to carry out of the church, Regulus wished he had refused the potion Madam Pomfrey had made for him. He felt disconnected and uncomfortable, unable to cry. He knew that the adults were worried about how he had been dealing with his father’s death, but it seemed to him that they forgot he was just a boy who had lost the only family he had ever known. If he could feel anything at all, he would be angry that they took away his opportunity to properly grieve, to finally come to terms with his losses.   
  
He stood in a daze, only moving when Cygnus gave him a gentle push as he followed the pallbearers out of the church and down the path lined with his mother’s favorite flowers – lilies and irises. As they rounded the corner and passed through the arch that marked the entrance to the eastern garden, Regulus could see the hole dug out for his father’s casket next to the cherry tree that marked his mother’s grave. He knew that many of the nobler purebloods had massive mausoleums to hold their dead, and the Blacks did have one, built in the graveyard down past the Quidditch pitch on the northern side of the estate. But according to his father, Walburga Black enjoyed gardening more than anything in the world. So when she died, she was buried amongst the flowers and trees that she nurtured like the children she never had the chance to raise. Orion loved Walburga as much as she loved her garden, so Regulus felt comforted knowing his father would soon be reunited with his mother.   
  
As his father’s casket was being lowered into the ground, Regulus looked around at all of the people that had gathered to watch the king being buried. Despite the potion, he felt a pang of sadness, wishing desperately that Sirius would make an appearance, that he would find it in his heart to return just in time to give their father a proper good-bye. But as the minutes passed and dirt slowly started covering the coffin, Sirius’s opportunity to say good-bye slipping further and further away, Regulus felt his heart breaking even more at his brother’s dismissal.   
  
His uncle appeared at his elbow and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, Regulus?”   
  
“I’m not ready to be king,” Regulus replied, his eyes never leaving his parents’ graves. He felt gratitude towards the servants who obviously cared for his father as they painstakingly shoveled dirt over the coffin, foregoing magic to do the dirty work by hand.   
  
“When I’m through with you, you will be the best king this kingdom has ever seen,” Cygnus promised, squeezing his shoulder gently.   
  
Regulus finally lifted his gaze towards Cygnus’s face, and though he was perturbed by the slight gleam in his uncle’s eyes, he felt comforted knowing that, with his uncle’s help, he would not be thrown like a lamb to slaughter.   
  
Deep down, however, Regulus began to pray that Sirius would return long before he ever had to take the throne.   
  
 ** _Scene V_**  
  
The night before his coronation, Cygnus was told by Father Doge to take a bath to cleanse his soul. Cygnus was sure a simple bath could never purge his body of the sins he had committed, but he followed the priest’s instructions lest the man find some reason to withhold the crown from him. Verrill was waiting beside the tub with a robe when his bathwater became too cool to be comfortable.   
  
“Your coronation outfit was completed this afternoon, sir,” Verrill told him, as another maid came in to turn down his duvet. “I will bring it to you first thing tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Excellent. You are dismissed, boy.” Cygnus waved the boy away. Verrill bowed his head, and then, after sharing a brief glance with the maid, left Cygnus for the night. “You may leave as well,” he said to the maid, who was fluttering anxiously around his room, looking for something to do. With a curtsy, she also left, and Cygnus sighed in relief now that he was alone.   
  
He glanced at the glass flask filled with Sleeping Draught, and knew that without it, there would be no sleep tonight. He wasn’t nervous for tomorrow, but an anxious thrum pulsed through his veins. He was  _finally_  getting what he wanted – the crown and the kingdom, to do with as he pleased.   
  
“I am proud of you, son.”   
  
His father’s voice startled him, and his hand flew up to his throat, feeling the racing of his heart beneath his palm. Pollux’s portrait smirked at him. “Did you not expect me to wish my son congratulations the night before he is to be crowned king?”   
  
“Of course I expected you, Father,” Cygnus scoffed. “You merely caught me off-guard.”   
  
Pollux’s eyes narrowed. “I expect better vigilance from you in the future, Cygnus. A dawdling king is a dead king.”   
  
“Yes, Father.”   
  
“I will be watching the ceremony from Great-Aunt Elladora’s portrait. Do not disappoint me. I will not let your incompetence ruin what we have been working years to accomplish.”  
  
“ _My_  incompetence?” Cygnus snapped. “Unlike my sister, I have never given you any reason to question my abilities.”   
  
“Just do not make a fool of yourself,” Pollux growled, and before Cygnus could say another word, he stalked out of his portrait, leaving Cygnus to gape at the empty frame in confusion.   
  
“I’ll show him,” he muttered bitterly.   
  
He grabbed the Sleeping Draught and swallowed it in one large gulp. Settling himself into bed, Cygnus allowed himself a smile. Tomorrow, he would be king.   
  
Cygnus woke the next morning feeling refreshed, and was thankful he thought ahead to ask Madam Pomfrey to brew him the draught; his subjects would not think too highly of their new king should he appear before them looking tired and drawn.   
  
It was as if Verrill had a sixth sense about when Cygnus needed him, for no sooner had Cygnus slipped out of his bed than the boy was knocking on his bedroom door, beautiful silk clothes folded over his arm.   
  
“These are for you,” he proffered, and Cygnus sucked in a breath when his fingertips felt the silk, a fine fabric – delicate yet strong. Being a member of the royal family, Cygnus was always able to afford the finer things in life, but these clothes were made specifically for him, for a king.   
  
“Is the outfit to your liking, sir?”   
  
“Fit for a king. It’s perfect.”   
  
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to the tailors.”   
  
Cygnus dressed quickly, like a young boy on Christmas; he was excited to feel the expensive material against his skin. If he thought he looked like a king in the regal robes Verrill has chosen for the funeral, it was nothing compared to how noble and proud he looked this morning. Cygnus spent many hours locked in his study, plotting for this very moment, and the lack of sun had caused his skin to take on a rather sallow appearance, but today, his cheeks glowed. His eyes were bright and vibrant, and for the first time in years, Cygnus felt  _alive_.   
  
“If you’re ready, sir, I’m to lead you to the main foyer, where Father Doge will meet you to take you to the throne room.”   
  
“Yes, yes,” Cygnus exclaimed, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Let us seize this day.”   
  
By the time he was trailing Father Doge into the crowded hall, Cygnus had managed to reign in his enthusiasm. Having the funeral and coronation within days of each other allowed those traveling from further distances to remain at the castle for both occasions, and Cygnus was secretly thrilled that so many of his subjects would see him become their king.   
  
Finally, Father Doge stood in front of the throne and motioned for Cygnus to kneel before him. He held his arms outstretched until the room quieted and Cygnus could hear nothing but the sounds of his own breathing.   
  
“Cygnus Phineas Black the Third, do you swear to these people, your subjects, that you will offer them the rights and customs awarded to them by the kings of old in accordance with the laws currently in effect?”  
  
“I do.” Cygnus was relieved that the integration laws Orion had been working diligently on for years had yet to be passed. One less promise he would make today that he did not have to break.   
  
“Do you swear to remain ever merciful and righteous during your rule?”   
  
“I do.”   
  
Father Doge turned towards Dumbledore, who had been standing beside him, the large silver hooplet with eight half-arches adorned with rubies and emeralds resting on the pillow held in his hands. Lifting the crown, Father Doge stepped forward, and with a grand flourish, he placed the crown upon Cygnus’s head. The crown was heavier than he expected, but the weight was welcome. His lips quirked up a bit before he schooled his face into that of a serious monarch.   
  
“Stand and face your subjects,” Father Doge commanded him.   
  
Cygnus did as he was told as Father Doge and Dumbledore stepped in front of him, reversing their positions. The two men knelt before Cygnus and the crowd followed suit, until the only man standing in the room was Cygnus. He gazed at the tops of his subjects’ heads and felt an intoxicating rush of power race through him. Regulus was at the front of the room, kneeling beside his cousins, his black hair a dark contrast to his pale face. Cygnus knew that when Regulus turned seventeen, it would be his turn to stand here before his subjects and declare himself as their king. Cygnus would prepare the young prince well.   
  
“Will you, the people, accept this man to rule as your king?” Father Doge asked those gathered in the hall.  
  
“We will and we do!” the crowd cheered loudly.   
  
“We offer you oaths of fealty,” Father Doge said. “We are your loyal subjects and share the honor of serving you, our king.”   
  
“I accept your vows and will hold you to them,” Cygnus replied steadily, as his daughters beamed at him.  
  
His eyes caught those of some of the supporters he had quietly been recruiting, and they all tilted their heads in acknowledgement, their promises of loyalty already inked into the skin of their left forearms.


	6. Act VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt older then, like he had aged years, and he wondered if this is what happened to everyone who had experienced a loss.

**_Scene I_**  
  
Bright sunlight filtered in through the patchy holes of the bare-thread curtains covering the windows of the cabin. Sirius blinked wearily and, with his fists, rubbed the last straggling cobwebs of sleep from his eyes. He blinked again in surprise when he found wide eyes the color of molten caramel, like the candies Mrs. Weasley let them have after supper on the nights the young princes behaved well enough, hovering above his face.   
  
“Oh!” he exclaimed, and the skin around the eyes crinkled as a soft chuckle slipped out of the boy who was leaning over his makeshift bed.   
  
“C’mon, Sirius,” Remus said, tugging him from beneath his pile of blankets. “We have a long day ahead of us.”   
  
Sirius stumbled to his feet and groaned as he stretched, relishing in the tight pull of his muscles and the crack of his joints. He wasn’t quite used to sleeping on a pile of blankets, his body still accustomed to the comforts of palace life – a mattress and a duvet nothing more than luxuries of the past – but he knew a warm place to sleep at night was better than death.   
  
It had been nearly a week since that fateful night in the woods, since these boys had humiliated him but then rescued him from certain death, taking him in like a stray dog. Sirius knew he should feel grateful, especially this morning, with Remus’s carefree smile offering him hope that perhaps he could survive in this new, frightening world.   
  
But his stomach twisted, and there was a deep ache in his chest when he thought of everything he had left behind. There had been no time to mourn his father’s death, not when James had him chopping down branches for firewood with a stolen axe well into early evening, or using a hammer to fix broken planks in the floor. More than once, when he was soaking his bleeding and blistered hands in cold water from the stream, he desperately wished that James would show him how to use magic. He had seen the older boy twirling a wand between his nimble fingers as he supervised Sirius’s chores, but he never offered to help, so Sirius never bothered asking.   
  
He was a proud boy, he would readily admit, and he knew that James was waiting for him to crack. Sirius knew that if James had his way, Sirius would be on his knees begging to be taught how to wield a wand and conjure magic with nothing more than a few spoken words. Instead, Sirius clamped his lips shut, gritted his teeth, and bore the pain of his physical exertions like a common boy with no ounce of magic or nobility in his blood.   
  
His mind wandered to thoughts of his younger brother, and he wondered how Regulus was faring. Thinking of his more delicate sibling made the ache in his heart bloom like the flowers in his mother’s garden in spring. Then he felt his stomach drop, and his heart had begun to race while the blood in his veins turned to ice. Did they try to murder Regulus too? If the only reason he was alive right now was because of the boys who had saved him, Regulus stood no chance. The horror of it made him almost sick and he struggled for breath, his foolishness for not thinking of his younger brother sooner making his eyes burn with tears.   
  
Remus nudged him then, his elbow sharp and pointy in the soft flesh of his side. “Come on then, we don’t have all day.” He paused and looked at Sirius closely. “Are you all right?”   
  
“All day for what?” Sirius murmured, and then shook his head to clear his mind. “I just had a thought. Is there… is there any way to hear news from around the kingdom?” He still could not tell them who he was; there was no knowing what they would do to him, or what those men in the castle would do once they found out he was still alive.   
  
Instead of replying, Remus merely tossed him a worn leather jacket and, shrugging on his own jacket, made his way outside.   
  
He looked to the other boy in the cabin for answers, but Peter was whittling away at a piece of wood with his knife, quietly humming a tune Sirius vaguely recognized. James had already left earlier that morning, long before Sirius had been roused from sleep, on a mission for more food and gold. When Sirius had asked the night before how he expected to procure said gold, James grinned toothily at him and said, “I can’t have you knowing all my secrets, rich boy.”   
  
Remus popped his head back in, the sunlight highlighting the golden tints in his hair, and Sirius had to squint in order to make out Remus’s annoyed expression. “Are you deaf?”   
  
Sirius shook his head emphatically and quickly strode across the length of the cabin. Remus turned sideways and allowed him to pass before he reached behind them to close the door. “Are you ready?”  
  
Sirius wrinkled his nose in frustration and sighed heavily, his breath visible in the chill of the early morning. “Are you going to answer me, or are you going to keep all of this a secret too?” he snapped.  
  
A flash of hurt crossed Remus’s expression before he blinked, and then it was gone. “I thought we would get you some new clothes,” Remus replied easily as he began walking east. He glanced at Sirius out of the corner of his eye as the young prince rushed to catch up and smiled. “It seems you’re a bit taller than the rest of us.”  
  
Sirius knew he was tall for his age. Mrs. Weasley was constantly clucking her tongue at how quickly he outgrew his clothing. The trousers Sirius wore, borrowed from James, who was closest in height, barely reached his ankles, and the cold wind bit at the exposed skin, making him shudder. Having no shoes of his own, his feet were squeezed into Remus’s only other pair of loafers and the tight leather pinched his fragile skin.   
  
“Where are we going?” Despite his long legs, Sirius found himself having to walk quickly to keep up with Remus, who knew these woods like the back of his hand. Remus could walk these trails soundlessly, an advantage when it came to hunting for food. Sirius winced as he crashed through the underbrush, his feet tangled with fallen branches and decaying leaves.   
  
Remus waved his hand vaguely in the direction they were headed. “A small village a couple of miles away. You can pick up news from the kingdom there and we should be able to buy some clothing that will fit you, as long as you don’t mind the quality.”   
  
Sirius huffed and kicked a pebble with his toe, glaring at Remus dolefully. “I am not a snob.”   
  
“Says the boy that owns silk pajamas.” Remus quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile, daring Sirius to argue with him.   
  
“I like my silk pajamas,” Sirius muttered. A particularly cold gust of wind blew past them, and he crossed his arms across his chest to stay warm. “Though I suppose wearing them in this weather would not be advisable.”   
  
Remus snorted. “Advisable? If you want to fit in with us, you need to stop talking all fancy-like.” Remus peered at him suspiciously. “Are you ever going to tell us who you really are?”   
  
“I told you my name. What more do you need to know? I know nothing about any of you.”   
  
“We’re a private lot,” Remus replied with a shrug. “Maybe we don’t trust you any more than you trust us.”   
  
Sirius squinted off into the distance and, despite the glare of the sun, he saw nothing but low-lying branches and shrubs scattered along the path they were walking on.   
  
“How far until the village?”   
  
“Less than half an hour. When James found me and we decided to stick together to survive, we thought about building our own place. But then we stumbled on that cabin and it seemed like fate. It’s a bit of a walk to the nearest village when we need something, but it’s better for us to stay away from the towns.”   
  
“Why?”  
  
Remus gave Sirius a sidelong glance before repeating, “We’re a private lot.”  
  
Sirius groaned. “Are you wanted for murder? At least tell me that. I just escaped from murderers. I don’t need to keep company with people who might want to see me dead.”   
  
“If we wanted you dead, we would’ve left you in the woods to fend for yourself.”   
  
Sirius fell silent at that and continued stumbling along behind Remus. From his angle, he was able to casually observe the older boy without arousing too much attention. Remus was lanky, though slightly undernourished, which Sirius suspected was from their poor diet. He briefly wondered how Peter managed to stay so soft around the middle when he was still fighting off hunger pangs, even after eating. No matter how hard he tried to focus on other aspects of Remus – like his sandy colored hair, and how pinched and weary his face looked despite his easy smile – Sirius could not keep his eyes from flickering back to Remus’s face every few seconds. The slightly pink, puckered lines that disfigured his face taunted Sirius with their secrets until he could no longer stop himself from blurting out, “Where did you get your scars?”  
  
Remus stopped so suddenly that Sirius almost ran into him, and under Remus’s harsh glare, he felt his face warm with the heat of his blush.   
  
“That is none of your business,” Remus snarled and Sirius was so taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, the way his lips curled, wolf-like and predatory, that he took a step backwards and tripped over a fallen tree limb. He landed with a loud ‘Oomph!’ on his rear and winced as his wrist twisted awkwardly when he threw his arms back to catch his fall. Under his breath, he cursed a word Mrs. Weasley surely would have reprimanded him for, picked up from drunken arguments he eavesdropped on between his father’s guardsmen as an impish child. Remus let out a startled gasp at the curse, and he blinked owlishly down at Sirius as if he was just waking from a dream. His face morphed into one of embarrassment, and he immediately looked contrite.   
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” Remus exclaimed, rushing to kneel beside Sirius. Remus reached out to grab Sirius’s hurt wrist, but Sirius flinched and pulled away from the boy, looking at him warily.  
  
“Don’t touch me,” he said darkly.   
  
Remus inhaled sharply, his hand frozen in mid-air, and he looked at Sirius with such despair that Sirius almost felt sorry for the boy. But he remembered the utterly wild look that had possessed Remus at his seemingly innocent question, and he was frightened.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Remus mumbled again and he rocked back on his heels, looking skyward, eastward, anywhere but Sirius’s face, pinched with pain and fear.   
  
Sirius swallowed thickly before speaking again. “Mind telling me what that was about?”   
  
“Please,” Remus begged. “I won’t harm you, I swear it. I don’t know what came over me. But please don’t look at me like I’m a monster.” He spat the word like a curse, and by the way it rolled off his tongue, vile and angry, Sirius knew it was one he had heard often in his short years on this earth. “I couldn’t stand it if you hated me like everyone else. My family couldn’t even look me in the face when they banished me to die in these woods. That’s why I can’t tell you my secrets, not yet.” He finally collapsed to the leaf-strewn ground, his forehead resting against his bent knees. “I just want a friend,” he said pitifully, and Sirius’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the defeat in his posture.   
  
There was royalty and purity in the blood that ran through his veins, but Sirius Black was still no more than a young boy of eleven, desperate for companionship in this stark, cold world that was so unlike his life of privilege. This was not how he was raised, to be fearful or judgmental of those who were different from him; his father would have his hide if he could see Sirius now, cowering like a child afraid of its own shadow.   
  
Tentatively, he reached out with his good hand to bridge the gap between them, patting Remus on the knee. Lacking all the grace that had been instilled in him since birth, Sirius crawled over to the repentant boy and threw his arm around his shoulder, like he would to comfort his younger brother. “You saved my life, Remus. Friendship is the least I owe you for what you have done for me. And if it means anything, I’m sorry for questioning you. You have the right to keep secrets just as much as I do.”  
  
Remus looked up at Sirius hopefully, his lips curled up in a small smile. “Friends?” he asked, turning his body slightly towards Sirius, extending his hand towards the young prince.   
  
Releasing the boy from his half-hug, Sirius grasped Remus’s hand with his own, and with a single, purposeful pump, he declared them friends.   
  
 ** _Scene II_**  
  
Cissy entered the grand ballroom on the arm of a young pureblood by the name of Evan Rosier. She gasped at the extravagance and beamed haughtily at anyone who happened to glance her way upon her entrance. The ballroom was bursting at the seams, filled with loud music and raucous laughter, men in their finest dress robes drinking the best mead the kingdom had to offer from jewel-encrusted golden goblets, and women wearing gowns of silk, diamonds sparkling against the pale skin of their necks. Cissy felt like she was living a dream come true; she had spent her entire life watching her uncle grieve the loss of his wife and let his castle and its beauty fall to the wayside. This castle was built to host parties and great feasts and, like her father, Cissy was born to wear the robes of royalty and the delicate crown that rested perfectly upon her pretty blonde curls. All of  _this_  was made for her, not those stupid little boys who preferred to play Exploding Snap before supper and swords-play with wooden sticks like the knights in the old stories their nanny, Mrs. Weasley, told them at bedtime.   
  
Cissy knew her father’s position as king was temporary, guardian of the kingdom until her youngest cousin came of age to take the throne as the rightful heir. Cissy caught sight of Regulus, still glued to the side of his late father’s aide, Kreacher, and being coddled by Mrs. Weasley. He looked withdrawn, sick with grief and loss. Cissy scoffed at the young prince.  _No great king he will make,_  she thought, though better him than headstrong Sirius, who would rather see their kingdom in ruin like his father before him. Sirius had no concern for keeping their line pure, and when she found out Sirius had run away after his father’s death, unable to deal with the burden of the kingdom, she thought,  _Good riddance._  
  
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, princess?” Evan commented from her side. He was young, Sirius’s age, but handsome and charming. Despite his youth, he still towered over petite Cissy, the youngest and frailest of Cygnus’s daughters. Dressed in black velvet dress robes, with his black hair slicked back, Evan was as dark as she was bright: Her dress was the color of emeralds, tightened to accentuate her tiny waist, and her soft golden hair was piled above her head in perfect ringlets.  _A beautiful girl fit for a queen._  
  
She smiled serenely at her escort. “You have, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” she replied loftily, before catching the eye of her sister, Bellatrix. She waved quickly to her and then dragged Evan along, her hand still gripping his elbow. “Come, let us visit with my sister.”   
  
“Well, don’t you look prissy,” Bella remarked upon their approach. Bella was wearing a black dress with a corseted bodice, her thick, dark hair pulled away from her thin face.   
  
Cissy sniffed daintily. “I wish I could say the same for you. You look like you’re dressed for a funeral. We’re here to celebrate Father’s crowning. You could at least look the part of a princess.”  
  
“We did just bury our uncle,” Bella drawled, though Cissy knew Bella cared even less for their former king than she did. “But why should I dress like a princess when you already fit the role so perfectly, dearest little sister? You were always the one to dream of pretty gowns and balls. I just want to find a husband.”   
  
At nineteen, Bellatrix was already of age to be married to a respectable pureblood man, and the girls knew their father had hoped his daughters would find some suitable prospects at his coronation ball.   
  
“Has anyone caught your eye?” Cissy asked. She wondered if there was even a man out there that could tame her wild sister.   
  
Bellatrix smirked at her. “Perhaps,” she sang, and with a wink, she slinked off into the thick crowd around them, and it was only then did Cissy notice with a start that her sister had come to the celebration barefoot.   
  
Shaking her head in disbelief, Cissy turned to make a snide remark to Evan when her eyes caught those of a man across the room, and her breath caught in her throat. He was appraising her, his eyes roaming the small curves of her body, a slight grin on his face, and she flushed from his perusal. His smile widened, showing off his gleaming white teeth, as he caught sight of her delicate blush.   
  
“Evan,” she whispered, her eyes still glued to the other man, unable to tear her gaze away.   
  
“What is it, princess?”   
  
“Who is that man, over there?” she asked. She didn’t point for fear of being caught making a spectacle of herself, but Evan followed her gaze across the room until he caught sight of the man she had been asking about.  
  
“The gentleman in the dark blue robes, with the white-blonde hair?”   
  
Cissy nodded imperceptibly, and though it was with great effort, she glanced up at her companion, finally giving him her attention.   
  
Evan pursed his lips as though in deep thought. “I can’t be certain,” he finally replied, “but I do believe that might be Lucius, son of Abraxas, of the Malfoy bloodline.”   
  
“He’s  _handsome_ ,” she giggled.   
  
“He’s too old for you,” Evan argued fiercely.   
  
“What? He is not. He can hardly be more than two years older than me.” She paused, and then looked at Evan accusingly. “You’re just jealous.”  
  
“Ha,” Evan scoffed. “Jealous of what?”   
  
“You’re just a little boy, Evan. You should go find a young pureblood girl your age to dance with,” Cissy said as gently as she could.   
  
She thought he was certainly a charmer – easy on the eyes, and with words as sweet as honey on his tongue when he had first asked to escort her – but she hadn’t anticipated having to let the boy down. She thought he had known he was too young for the likes of Narcissa Black, youngest daughter of the newly-crowned king. She needed a man, like Lucius, who was slowly making his way across the room, his eyes never leaving hers. Cissy felt her heart begin to race in her chest, and her palms were slick with sweat.   
  
“Get out of here, Evan,” she hissed, pushing him away from her. The young boy turned to look at her, confusion written in the furrow of his brow, and he opened his mouth to complain. Cissy shoved her hand against his lips. “Not a word. You are dismissed.” Evan huffed angrily and stormed away, shouldering an elderly wizard as he passed, who shouted drunken insults after the young boy.   
  
Cissy rubbed her hands against her side to try and dry them and exhaled heavily, composing herself. Just as the crowd parted to allow Lucius through, she braced herself, and then greeted the handsome man with a brilliant smile.   
  
 ** _Scene III_**  
  
“If we don’t hurry up, we’ll be out here all day,” Remus said, rising to his feet easily.   
  
He wore an easy smile now that the young boys had declared their friendship, though his eyes were still wary. He reached a hand out and helped Sirius stumble to his feet. Sirius let out a small whimper of pain; while they were walking he had hardly noticed the blistering skin on his feet, but now that they had lain idle for some time, his feet, still tender from his night in the woods, felt as though they had been rubbed raw from the pinching leather. Like his hands, blistered from the wood of an axe, the skin of his feet was thin and delicate, not callused and rough like the other boys, who were used to working and walking long distances with secondhand clothes and meager meals in their stomachs.   
  
Remus frowned when he peered down to look at Sirius’s feet. “We’ll have to buy some healing salve when we get to the village, and see if we can get someone to look at your wrist.”   
  
He shoved his hand into his trouser pockets and pulled out a fistful of coins. He bit his lip, an anxious tic, and furrowed his brow when he counted out how much he had. Sighing, he said, “Or maybe not. I don’t have the coins for a Healer and clothes if we’re going to buy some healing salve, which you definitely need if you’re to walk back to the cottage tonight. Is your wrist broken?”   
  
Sirius rotated his wrist, and though he wasn’t sure what he was feeling for, he poked around at the already-bruised flesh with his other hand. He had seen Madam Pomfrey do it once when he brought Regulus to her after he had fallen out of a tree and had snapped his wrist clean in two. With a shrug he said, “I don’t think so. When my brother broke his wrist, he could hardly move it.”   
  
“We’ll have James look at it tonight. Maybe he can use some magic to help with the pain and swelling. We really should be going – your feet will slow us down.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sirius muttered.   
  
Remus gave him a half-smile. “For what? It’s not your fault. You’re just a little soft, that’s all. We’ll harden you up quick.”   
  
“I suppose it’s better than death,” Sirius said as he scrunched up his nose at the idea of becoming thick-skinned.   
  
Maybe it would be for the best; perhaps if he had been tougher, those men wouldn’t have been able to kidnap him, or scare him away from his family and home like a pitiful child. He should be brave and strong, not soft like a delicate flower; he was a prince of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, after all.   
  
“Most things are better than death,” Remus laughed as he continued to pick up the pace towards the village.   
  
“Is there anything worse than death, you think?” He thought of his father’s body, lying cold and still on his bed, and of his brother, who was too young to die.   
  
Remus became unusually quiet, and Sirius peered at him out of the corner of his eye. Remus wasn’t looking at him; instead he was staring down at his hands, twisting them anxiously. So drawn to the scars that marked his face, Sirius never realized that the boy had scars all over his hands and forearms too. Now he was really curious about Remus’s story, though he knew better than to ask.  
  
“I used to,” Remus finally said. “Sometimes I still think so.”   
  
“My father used to tell me there was honor in death and that heaven was peaceful, beautiful, even. If there’s a world after ours of golden hills, sunshine, and nights where I can watch the stars for the rest of eternity, I don’t think death would be all that bad,” Sirius said after another pregnant pause.   
  
“No, it wouldn’t,” Remus agreed.   
  
They spent the rest of the walk to the village discussing various serious topics, ranging from their favorite books to the dirtiest joke they had ever heard. They never strayed to more personal questions, and for that, Sirius was grateful.   
  
He sighed in relief when they finally reached the outskirts of the village. Having never ventured further than the forests that surrounded the castle, and the small village just outside the castle walls, Sirius had little experience with other villages that populated his kingdom. But if they were anything like this one, he felt disgusted by the extravagance of the royal family.  _When he was king_ … But then he stopped in his thoughts because he never would be king. Scarface and Crooked-Teeth took that choice away from him, and that angered him more than the situation he found himself in.   
  
The village itself was dreary. The houses were small and in desperate need of repairs. The people walked in drab clothing, shapeless, lackluster, and worn until the threads had been frayed beyond repair. Despite the sad state of their homes and clothing, the villagers all had smiles for each other. Children played in the streets and shrieked with laughter as they chased each other around squawking chickens and stray dogs that nipped at their heels as they ran by.   
  
“Come on, we’ll get something for your feet first,” Remus said, tugging on his arm to wind him through the throng of people that crowded the main street. They stopped in front of a mid-sized building with a sign dangling from the awning above the door, reading “Madam Sophia’s Magical Remedies.”   
  
“We’ve visited Healers in a few different villages to test their products, but I really like Madam Sophia’s healing salve. It works immediately on your cuts and bruises. Doesn’t prevent scarring, though.”   
  
Sirius shrugged. “My father always said that scars tell stories of our adventures and trials. That they prove to people how strong we are. See –” He pushed his hair back out of his eyes and pointed to the ugly, puckered line that scarred his forehead. “I got this one after my brother dared me to climb a tree and jump onto the roof of the garden shed. Fell short and my head caught the edge of the roof. Took a nice little tumble into a bed of pansies.”   
  
“I bet your brother wasn’t calling  _you_  a pansy after that,” Remus remarked with an incredulous laugh.   
  
“No way! He almost wet himself when Father called for him after he found out what happened.”   
  
“Serves him right. You could have killed yourself.”  
  
“Nah,” Sirius replied with a snort. “The shed was hardly taller than I am now. It wasn’t a far drop.”  
  
“You again!” Sirius started when an old woman called out suddenly, and he realized that they had been standing in front of the shop, talking without moving.   
  
Remus waved sheepishly at the store owner. “I’m back!”  
  
“You used up all my salve already?” the woman asked as she waddled to one of the shelves lining the far side of her store. All Sirius could see of her was her hunched back and the beige shawl that covered her white hair.  
  
“Not for me, for him,” Remus replied, shoving Sirius along behind the woman. “He cut up his feet pretty bad.”   
  
The woman pulled a small round tub off the shelf. Through the clear glass of the tub, Sirius could see the bright green color of the salve. The woman turned towards them then and Sirius bit back a gasp at her horribly disfigured face. She had a black patch over her left eye while the surrounding skin appeared to be covered in burn scars. The woman cackled at the look of horror that was surely plastered all over his face.   
  
“Do I frighten you, boy?”   
  
Sirius shook his head frantically. “No, ma’am. I was just caught off guard. You are very lovely. Yes, not frightening at all.”   
  
Remus snickered at his rambling and led him over to the small bench by the front counter. “Here, put this on your feet,” he said, grabbing the salve from the woman and handing it to Sirius. He then pulled out two gold coins from his pocket and placed them in the woman’s equally disfigured hand, the fingers bent at unnatural angles.   
  
“Better get some new shoes, boy,” the woman commented, looking at his raw, bleeding feet. “Those look a tad bit too small.”  
  
“You think?” Sirius bit out, grinding his teeth as he rubbed the salve over his wounds. Sirius sat there for a few minutes, breathing heavily through the pain, until he could no longer feel the ache in his feet.   
  
Remus grinned widely at him. “Best salve I’ve ever tried. Am I right?”  
  
“Gods, that’s fantastic,” Sirius exclaimed. He wiggled his toes and smiled stupidly up at Remus, glad to be able to move around without feeling like he was ripping his skin off.   
  
“Let’s get you some new shoes. Give those back to me,” Remus demanded, grabbing his shoes from Sirius. “They still fit my feet, at least. See you later, Madam Sophia!”   
  
Remus then dragged Sirius down the road barefoot to a little rundown clothing shop. “It’s not much, but it’s cheap,” Remus said, pulling him inside.   
  
“I thought you guys stole all of your things?” Sirius asked a little while later as he rummaged through a bin of trousers that looked like they might fit him. He had two pairs of shoes dangling by their laces on his arm and he was excited to finally wear clothing that wasn’t too small.   
  
Remus’s eyes darted up to check where the store owner was and to see if any other customers were around before replying. “We do, but sometimes we have to buy things, and that’s where the gold comes in. Money is tight, but it was just easier to buy clothes for you so we know they fit you. Rummaging through trash and stealing things off racks isn’t always successful. You done?” he asked, gesturing to the small pile of clothes that Sirius had managed to accumulate while they chatted. Sirius nodded and handed everything over to Remus. “I’ll pay and meet you outside.”  
  
Sirius wandered around a bit while he waited for Remus. He saw an old man sitting in a rocking chair on his porch reading a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_. He squinted to see if he could read the headlines from where he stood, but the print was too small.   
  
“Excuse me, sir?” he called out as he approached the man. “What news from the castle?”  
  
The old man growled, deep and low from his chest. “Bloody idiots, the lot of them, throwing pretty feasts while the rest of barely have enough food to feed our families. They jus’ celebrated the crowning of King Cygnus.” The man spat at Sirius’s feet.   
  
“What about the prince?”   
  
“Prince?” the man asked in surprise. He flipped through some pages of the paper. “Dunno. There was an article a few days past ‘bout Prince Sirius running away. Gossip columns running rampant, o’course. They say maybe the boy had something to do with the king’s death, drove him to an early grave.”   
  
“Hey!” Sirius turned and saw Remus waving at him from down the road. He waved back and then asked the man, “What of the other prince? Regulus?”   
  
The man shook his head. “Not much about that young’un, jus’ a picture o’ him the other day at the king’s funeral. He looked sad.”  
  
Sirius sighed in relief. At least Regulus was still alive. “Thank you!” he said, before jogging to catch up to Remus.   
  
“Get the news you were hoping to hear?” Remus asked, shoving a brown paper bag into his arms and then handing him one of the pairs of shoes.   
  
Sirius grinned and put the bag down to slip the shoes on. “Yes, and thank you,” he said.  
  
“Sure. By the way –” Remus leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in Sirius’s ear. “I snagged another sweater on my way out.” He winked at Sirius and threw an arm around his shoulders, then said aloud, “Let’s go home.”   
  
 ** _Scene IV_**  
  
The ballroom was stuffy: Too many bodies packed tightly together, dancing and drinking, the rafters ringing with loud laughter and cheers. Molly sat at one of the long tables that lined the edge of the ballroom with Regulus slumped against her. In an affectionate gesture, she brushed his hair off his forehead, sticky with sweat, and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.  
  
“It’s too hot in here,” he complained to her.   
  
“Are you tired?” she asked. “I can take you up to your room.”   
  
“Will Uncle be mad if I leave?”   
  
Molly’s eyes searched the cavernous hall for the newly crowned king and found him, red-faced and laughing, having another glass of wine with the Lestrange brothers. The Lestrange brothers had many footholds in various trading companies that dealt mostly with items sold on the black market. She was surprised to see Bellatrix standing next to her father, for she had no interest in illegally bartered goods, and had been dancing with many men throughout the evening, only pausing to snag goblets off passing silver trays being carried by servant girls. Then Molly noticed that the young woman was batting her long eyelashes at one of the men, and she realized that Cygnus was not simply chatting with his guests about business, but with potential son-in-laws. Politics, she thought with a huff. If that was her daughter, she would never let her get involved with that sort of trouble.   
  
“Your uncle would hardly notice your absence, young prince,” Molly finally replied, ripping her eyes away from the flirting Bellatrix. “Let’s get you to bed.”   
  
She helped the boy to his feet and then took him up a back staircase. When they finally got to the boy’s room, he was stumbling with exhaustion.   
  
“Will you please take a Dreamless Sleep draught?” she pleaded with him.   
  
He nodded tiredly and Molly sighed in relief as she grabbed the vial from his bedside table and watched him drink the liquid before flopping onto his bed. Too sleepy to even undress, Molly disrobed him and then tucked him into bed, stroking his hair tenderly as he fell into a deep sleep.   
  
The prince had refused to take any draughts for the last few nights since his father’s funeral, and he was paying for it with only a few hours of restless sleep a night. He was overtired, and prone to tantrums that left Molly at her wit’s end.   
  
She had been this boy’s nanny since he was born, having no children of her own. She had been a young widow, losing her husband in a small goblin rebellion before the princes were even born. With no family of her own, she was hired by the king and queen to nanny young Sirius when the queen was bedridden for most of her pregnancy with the second-born. Then the queen died giving birth to Regulus, and Molly had to step in as mother to both boys. She loved them both fiercely, each in their own way, and it pained her to see her youngest charge so grief-stricken. She missed Sirius immensely and worried about him constantly, praying every night before bed that someone would find him and return him home to his brother, to her, to his rightful place on the throne.   
  
She did not trust Cygnus. He spoke slippery words and had a malevolent smile that seemed to haunt Regulus’s dreams on the nights he did fall asleep. Molly and Kreacher alternated shifts in his room at night to quiet him after his nightmares ripped him from sleep. She would murmur stories to him: Epic tales from the goblin rebellions, and his favorite fairy tales about princesses, dragons, and knights who fought with swords instead of wands, and he would drift to sleep for a few hours before he woke again, mid-scream, with watery eyes.   
  
Now that his father was dead, and with his brother missing, Regulus was heir to the throne. The stress of that responsibility ate at the little prince’s heart like a vicious monster, and Cygnus was no help, speaking of grooming him to be the greatest king the land had ever known. Cygnus was her king now, though, and if she wanted to continue watching over Regulus like any good mother would, she had to hide her disgust for his serpentine uncle.   
  
“My poor, sweet boy,” Molly murmured, still running her gentle fingers through his hair. She watched him sleep and she smiled softly at his innocent face, still so full of life and youth. She would protect him, no matter the cost.   
  
 ** _Scene V_**  
  
“You should have seen his face when Madam Sophia turned around,” Remus guffawed, slapping his knee as he retold James and Peter about Sirius’s first meeting with the old witch. They were sitting around their small table in front of the fire, eating a bowl of hot rabbit stew with some potatoes and onions James had stolen from a farmer’s field on his way back from his own little adventure. The boys traded barbs over goblets of mulled cider and laughed easily into the night.   
  
When it was time to go to bed, Sirius felt warm and full for the first time in days. He burrowed down into his makeshift bed as James went around blowing out all the candles and listening to all the boys settling into their own blankets. There was a lot of snuffling and shifting, and the noises of the animals outside usually lulled Sirius to sleep, but tonight all he could think about was the news he had heard from the castle.   
  
He was beyond relieved to hear that Regulus was still alive. He knew that his uncle would be interim king, but he hadn’t realized how soon the coronation ceremony would be after his father’s death. It stung to think that he missed his father’s funeral, and the guilt made his stomach churn uncomfortably. For the first time since his kidnapping, he allowed himself to cry. He trembled, and though he tried to muffle his cries in his blankets, it was like a dam had finally burst and his grief poured out of him in waves of anguish. Unable to keep himself quiet, Sirius kicked his blankets off and stumbled clumsily to his feet. The moon lit the small cabin easily, and Sirius found his way to the front door unscathed, slipping out without a jacket. He shivered the moment he stepped outside but he couldn’t be bothered to head back in. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to the nearby row of hedges and vomited.   
  
He gasped for air once he was through, hunched over, with his hands on his knees. For the smallest moment, he remembered what it had been like when he was back in the comfort of the castle, with Mrs. Weasley rubbing soothing circles on his back as she handed him a cool glass of water to rinse his mouth out. But that memory was cruelly ripped away from him and he was left with the stark realization that he was alone in the woods, struggling to survive in a foreign environment.   
  
He felt older then, like he had aged years, and he wondered if this is what happened to everyone who had experienced a loss.   
  
He shivered violently from the cold, his tears frozen to his face. There was a hand on his back now, but he was stuck in reality, so he knew it was not Mrs. Weasley.   
  
“Are you all right?” It was James.   
  
Sirius nodded and swiped at his face with the back of his hand. He stood up and turned towards James, though he would not look him in the eye. James threw a coat over his shoulders and handed him his shoes, both of which Sirius slipped on gratefully.   
  
The boys wandered to the back of the cabin, away from the smell of Sirius’s sickness, and began walking along the stream.   
  
“Want to talk about it?”   
  
James was being surprisingly kind to him, and it left Sirius speechless. It wasn’t that the boy had been particularly cruel to him the last few days, but he never went out of his way to be nice to Sirius. That was Remus’s job. Bleeding heart, James affectionately called him. It was strange to hear that affection being directed at him now.   
  
Sirius started to speak, but his words caught in his throat. He coughed, and when he spoke again, his voice was gravelly. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted.   
  
James didn’t even have to ask what ‘this’ was. “You’re going to have to, rich boy.” There was no malice in the way his nickname rolled off of James’s tongue. “It’s either this, or you die.”   
  
“I don’t know  _how_  to do this,” he clarified. “This is so different from everything I have ever known. I’m still a child, but I feel like I need to grow up, take care of myself, and I don’t know where to start.”   
  
“You don’t have to take care of yourself, not when you have us. We’ll take care of you as long as you take care of us, too. We’ve all had to grow up, some of us quicker than others. It’s a part of life. But this little friendship we have, it’s keeping us alive, and that’s all that counts.   
  
“I may seem like a bully, but sometimes you have to be mean to get what you need to stay alive. I may say things that will hurt you, but it’s only so you’ll grow some thicker skin, toughen up. Don’t be afraid to be aggressive, kid.”   
  
“How old are you, James?” Sirius wondered, awed at how much control the boy possessed. It was like he was born to be a leader, and he ran this little group of thieves like a well-oiled machine.  
  
“I’ll be thirteen soon, in March. How about you?”  
  
“Eleven.”   
  
James whistled, long and low. “That’s how old Peter was when Remus and I found him, half-starved, lost in the woods, and look at how well he turned out.” He grinned at Sirius, and Sirius found himself smiling back, tentatively, though the urge to cry was still there.   
  
“I miss my family,” Sirius whispered, only certain he was telling James these things because he felt safe under the dark cloak of night. For some reason, he just knew what he said would not be repeated come morning.  
  
“Me too,” James replied easily.   
  
For here, in the quiet of the night, there was no judgment, no snide remarks, just James and his hand resting between Sirius’s shoulder blades, a silent, steady comfort. 


End file.
